


Ghost Boy

by lousywithstature



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Implied Relationship, M/M, Modern AU, just spot/race though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6398998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousywithstature/pseuds/lousywithstature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU with a bit of a twist.<br/>David Jacobs meets Jack Kelly, a strange man who's life doesn't add up. But as the two get closer, Jack is getting closer and closer to his deadline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm attempting to get back into writing, so I'm using this story to try out some things. Updates won't be regular, and will only depend on how busy/motivated I am. Please enjoy!

Chapter One

David is wandering around City Hall Park, trying to clear his head, as it’s filled with equations and complex words that he’s sure he’ll never use. Sarah had pressured him into going outside, telling him things like, “the sun will be good for you, David,” before shooing him out the door, leaving David utterly lost on the porch of their apartment, with untied shoes, an unbuttoned collar, and barely zipped up jeans. Eventually, after ten minutes or so of just staring at the door, he decided he might as well as take a walk. Even though his family had moved here a few months back, David didn’t, and still doesn’t, like taking walks, as the city stink and sounds overwhelmed him. Not only that, but the drivers here were somewhat crazy (at least, that was what David was thinking), and crossing the street was like carelessly chopping up vegetables and hoping you don’t cut off your fingers. As a result, David only took out Les to walk on sidewalks and generally avoided crossing the street, unless if he had to. 

 

Really, he could think of doing better things, such as finishing up his math homework, but he didn’t have his keys to the apartment at the moment. And so, he decided to live dangerously and cross a couple of streets. Instead of adopting a leisurely walk most locals had, he bolted to the other side as soon as he saw the little man turn green.

So that was how he found himself here, in front of a statue of a man. Upon further inspection, David could see that it was a statue of Horace Greeley. The statue was interesting, but the park was probably more favorable to his sight. He looks around, hoping to see a park bench, but didn’t. Instead, he found a man dressed in a strange way, a mix of formal and the wild west, hands in his pockets and doing a strange walk that involved swaying your body and not bending your knees. 

 

He looked lost, and David decided that maybe he really needed directions. “A-Are you…?” David begins, and tries to reason with himself that no local would dress in that way, unless if they were a tourist from, say, Texas. “Are you lost?” 

 

The man looks up, surprise written all over his face. “Me?” He asks, pointing at himself, and stumbling back a little bit. David looks around uneasily. There weren’t many people, and most were walking. He looks back at the man, who seems surprised that David was talking to him. 

 

“Yes, you.” David keeps his facial expression neutral, because he has heard about pick pockets here, and maybe the man has some buddy around in the bushes, waiting for any good moment to jump him and steal all he had. Which wasn’t much, anyways. 

 

“Oh,” the man relaxes a little bit, but he seems a bit wary of David. He eyes him, looking him up at down, which made David self consciously try to remember if he had dressed properly. He had remembered to button up his shirt and tie his shoes. His pants weren’t that ripped, either, but it was ripped because Les had ran into him and made him fall into gravel.

 

The silence is uncomfortable and David awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, wishing he hadn’t approached the stranger at all. 

 

“Sorry,” the man says, and it’s sudden so David jumps a little bit. “And naw, I ain’t lost. What’s your name?”

 

“Why does it matter?” David looks at him warily, and gives him the same treatment the stranger gave him before. The man is wearing a navy blue vest (oddly formal), an unbuttoned collared light blue shirt that resembled a jean jacket, and a red bandana. He has a rope that’s coiled around his belt. 

 

“‘Cause I wanna know. I haven’t seen you before, so I’ll show ya ‘round.” The man gives him a  smile, the one that crinkles your eyes and gives you a younger appearance. 

“…David,” he hesitates before continuing, “I’ll let you show me around. On one condition though. Or two. You tell me your name, and nothing…criminal like happens because of you.” 

 

“Deal.” The stranger spits on his hand and holds it out for him to shake. 

 

David wrinkles his nose. “That’s disgusting.” He made a mental note to not go anywhere near his right hand. 

 

The stranger frowns, but wipes his hand on his vest. “Alright, then. Name’s Jack. Nice to meet ya, Dave.” 

 

“David,” he corrects him, only because the shortening of his name is reserved for close friends only. Or any nicknames. 

 

“David, Dave, Davey, same thing,” Jack waves his hand, and takes several steps closer to him to sling an arm around him. “So, what brought you here on this fine day?” 

“My sister,” is David’s response. 

 

“Alright. Well you better thank your sister, ‘cause I’ll be the best tour guide I can!” Jack grins, and David replies, 

 

“There is a difference between trying and doing.”  

 

—-

 

David didn’t have any high expectations for his “tour guide”. In fact, he expected Jack to show him run down places practically crawling with vermin and bugs. But instead, Jack showed David a lot of historical places, which really surprised him, as he didn’t seem like the type to like history at all. After hours of Jack showing David places like Irving Place Theatre while telling him random tidbits, like “Medda used to preform here. Real beauty she was” (he also refused to tell who the people he mentioned were) and Jack being overly touchy, Jack finally let David rest his sore and aching feet and legs once they made their way back at City Hall Park. Despite the fact that animals could have, to put in a less formal way, shit all over the place, he sits down on the ground, rubbing his legs. 

 

“How’s school?” Jack asks, and he’s leaning against the statue, arms folded, looking up at the sky. The fact that he hadn’t rested at all amazes David. 

 

“It’s good,” David says, because that’s what he always says. Although school isn’t “good” it was better than nothing. Even if school gave him many headaches and too much homework, along with classmates that he loathed, at least some of the classes were somewhat interesting. 

 

“How’re the classes? Whaddya do in there?” 

 

David tries to think of the most memorable memory he has, and can only think of one that didn’t involve stupid classmates. “I cut up a frog once.” 

 

He looks up at Jack, and doesn’t regret it. Jack gapes at him, looking concerned and a little bit afraid. “You what?” 

 

“I cut up a frog, and various other animals. I got to look at their insides and everything.”

 

“No way.”

 

“Yes way.” 

 

“B-But - “ Jack looks somewhat horrified and David has to bite back a laugh. “Poor frogs!”

 

“They’re interesting to look at, though.”

 

“D’ya kill ‘em?” Jack feigns sickness, and he does it fairly well. The only reason why David can tell is because the way he holds his stomach is too exaggerated to be real. Even the terrible stomachaches he gets at school doesn’t cause him to violently clutch at his stomach.

 

“No, they’re dead by the time they come in.”

 

“Oh, thank God. You ain’t that brutal, huh, Dave?” Jack sits next to him and slings an arm around him. His arm is strong and steady. David leans into it because Jack is warm and comforting, even if there isn’t anything to be comforted about. “Even if you do cut up frogs.”

 

“Shut up,” he smiles a little bit and pushes him lightly. “Hey, do you…want to come over for dinner?” He didn’t know what brought it on, but he figured that he might as well as show his parents that he had, in fact, made friends, and no, they shouldn’t worry. And Jack is better than he expected, he wouldn’t mind eating dinner with him. But one problem was if his family would like him or not, would they dislike Jack because of his…disgusting spit habits? Or perhaps he had terrible table manners, perhaps he chews too loud or eats with his mouth open. Or maybe Jack is a klutz, though he does seem unnaturally graceful on his feet, in a way that didn’t make sense, but a lot of things about Jack didn’t make sense.

 

“Davey?” Jack waves his hands in front of David’s face and he realizes that he had been too focused on his thoughts to have heard what he was saying. 

 

“Sorry. What were you saying?” 

 

“Stop thinkin’ so loud, will ya?” he gives David a somewhat endearing crooked grin, and lightly whacks his head. “I’ll meet your family.”

 

“I wasn’t…” then a horrified expression as he considered the possibility of it. He  had done it before, so the idea of speaking his thoughts out loud with someone he had met today makes him get hot flashes everywhere and hope he isn’t blushing. “Was I?”

 

“Naw, but you got your face all screwed up like you was thinkin’ real hard ‘bout somethin’. Y’know, sometimes…” He trails off, a confused look on his face. David wonders who or what he’s thinking about. “Never mind, Dave.”

 

“Alright,” he says as easily as he can, because Jack probably doesn’t trust him enough to tell him everything. That was fine. David didn’t either, they had just met, and the only bonds they so far shared were the fact that they lived in New York, they were men, and that…well, there wasn’t much left. Bonding over two simple things that they couldn’t really control was already proved to David from past experience that it wouldn’t work. He just hopes that meeting his family will show something that they could bond over, and being friends with someone who was as casual as Jack did present some cons for him, but there were some pros. 

 

“What time is it? Is it close to dinner time for you?” 

 

“Hold on, let me check.” He lifts up his right arm to check, and mentally berates himself. Despite having wearing his watch on the correct arm (after his mother took notice and told him that the watch did, in fact, go on the left arm), he’s still used to lifting up his right arm to check the time. He notices Jack watching him curiously out of the corner of his eye. Self consciously, he flicks at his right arm to pretend that an ant was crawling there (even if his father taught him to never lie, or deceive, this could be counted as a special occasion), and lifts his left arm. “5:30. We eat at 6:00. Assuming that we walk at a normal pace, we’ll reach there in about fifteen minutes or so. So then I would have time to set the table and check on Les. Does it sound good?” 

 

“Makes my head spin, but sounds good,” Jack gives the statue a little pat, and walks to David. He holds out his hand, his right hand. David doesn’t remember Jack ever washing his hand during the whole trip so he decides to grab at his arm and pull himself up that way. “What was tha’ for, huh?” 

 

“What?”

 

“Grabbin’ my arm. My hand was right there.” 

 

“You spit in it,” David says matter-of-factly, and kicks at a stray rock. “Let’s get going.” 

 

— 

 

Once they reach the apartment, David pauses in front of the door, causing Jack to crash into him and back away. 

 

“Wha’s wrong?” 

 

He considers his options, what he can say. Nothing is favorable, and most of it would end with him lying. So he opts for silence, turning his thoughts over and over inside his head. If he knocked, who would open? Assuming that Sarah was in her bed, and his parents were not near the door, Sarah would open the door. He doesn’t know if Sarah approves of these “wild west” type of people, what she associates with them. But Sarah would never say anything necessarily rude in front of Jack’s face, but Les, assuming no one would stop him from opening the door, might not have enough self restraint to do so. His parents would be fine with anyone as long as they followed their moral standards fairly well, but showing up with someone on such a short notice might not be a good idea…

 

“Dave, just knock.” Jack is right next to him all of a sudden, and David realizes that Jack smells like newspaper print and freshly printed paper, with a hint of something burning. “Dave?” 

 

“Sorry,” David lets out a sigh, and raises his hand to knock. He knocks three times, and waits. Sarah is the one to open the door, all pretty with her hair pulled back and old clothes. Her shirt isn’t properly buttoned, but she is formal looking, probably getting ready for work.

 

“Hi David,” she smiles, and suddenly notices Jack. “Who’s this?” She adopts her wary smile, the smile she uses around strangers. Not genuine at all. Sarah is a master at faking smiles, from years of practice, David assumes. 

 

“The name’s Jack Kelly,” he holds out his hand for a handshake and quickly withdraws it. Instead, he smiles at her, in a sweet, charming way. “Nice ta meet ya. ’S okay if I stay here for dinner?” 

 

“Oh, um…” Sarah makes a motion like she’s brushing away her hair out of her face. David doesn’t know why. “Let me ask Mom…” She turns her head to walk off, and hastily adds, “Mother. Sorry. Mother.”

 

David makes a high pitched “Aha!”, even though there isn’t nothing to laugh at. Feeling heat rush up his spine and to his cheeks he stuffs his hands in his pockets and glances up at Jack, who snickers. David kicks him softly, “Shut up, I didn’t mean to laugh.” 

 

“What you laughin’ at, huh, Dave?” 

 

“My sister’s…attitude.” He shrugs, opting to let his words flow out freely instead of letting his brain desperately grasp for each word and analyzing things when it saw it. 

 

Before Jack can say anything, Sarah is back, smiling again, hair smoother than before and her shirt is buttoned up. “Mom says that he can come in.” She steps out of the doorway and heads to the dinner table. David grabs Jack by the hand and leads him in. He doesn’t know why he’s all touchy feely with Jack, touching him and everything. 

 

“David!” Les is running at him, soon stopping right in front of him, instead of hugging him. David is glad, he doesn’t think he can stand the awkwardness of showing family affection in front of someone he came home. “You’re home! And you brought someone - “ 

 

“Nice t’meet ya, kid,” Jack bends down, probably grinning. He reaches forward and ruffles Les’ hair. “Me mother call me Jack Kelly. What’s your name?”

 

“Les,” Les stares up at Jack with these adoring eyes and David knows that he will most likely be bringing Jack home more and more often, due to Les’ pleas and also because David…wants to. It’s a strange feeling, wanting to bring someone home. Wanting to see them more and more often even if you haven’t known them for long. 

 

“I…I’ll be setting up the table if you need me,” David says awkwardly, nudging his way past Jack, busying himself with the silverware, even though it’s a simple, mindless task that requires little concentration. 

 

Soon, there’s the smell of soup in the air and the clatter of plates on the table. “Dinner’s ready!” David’s mother calls, and Jack walks in, slicking his hair back, with Les following him, holding onto the back of his shirt. Before his mother can ask who Jack is, David steps to the side of Jack, holding his hand out to present him. 

 

“This is Jack.” David pauses, because that doesn’t seem to be enough. “My tour guide…” Jack smiles at that, letting out a small laugh. “And my friend.” 

 

David’s mother raises her eyebrow at the tour guide part, but David doesn’t offer any more explanation. “Please, make yourself at home, Jack.” She wanders to one of the rooms and pulls out a chair, handing it to Jack.

 

“This your chair?” Jack tilts his head towards a chair. 

 

“No, this is mine,” he rests his hands on his chair, and Jack walks to him, a bit awkwardly due to the size of the chair (really, it was an office chair, the one with the spinning wheels, but it was the only other chair they had that wasn’t falling apart), and sets it to the left of his chair. David decides not to say anything about it. 

 

Everyone else settle into their normal places. It’s silent, until Jack decides to open his mouth, “So, uh, Davey…you left handed?” 

 

“Um,” David says, self consciously tucking in his elbow, trying to remember if he had ever elbowed Jack so far. “Yeah. I’m left handed.” 

 

“Wow!” Jack flashes an award winning grin, “I don’t think I ever met a leftie before. Unusual for these parts, ain’t it?” 

 

“I suppose so…” David scoops up more soup, watching it fall back into the bowl. 

 

“So, Jack, do you work?” David’s father inquires. 

 

“Uh…yeah. I’mma newsie, ‘long with a lotta my friends.” Jack shoves another spoonful of soup into his mouth. 

 

“A newsie?” Les pipes up, his mouth full. David gives him a stern look. 

 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full, Les.”

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Sarah hands him a napkin. 

 

“Uh, sorry, ‘meant ta say a…mail man?” He sounds uncertain on the last word. David doesn’t understand why, “Uh, sorry. Not a mailman. I don’t work nothin’.”

 

“How old are you?” Sarah asks, and David gets a sickening feeling in his stomach, like he ate too much and he was experiencing some sort of gas, but he barely ate today. 

 

“Eighteen, I think,” Jack shrugs, obviously uncomfortable. He scoops up soup and shoves it into his mouth sloppily, soup trickling down his chin. David tries not to laugh as he grabs a napkin and wipes Jack’s mouth, who shoots him a mix of amusement and something else he can’t quite understand. “This soup is good.”

 

—

 

“I…I better get goin’. Don’t wanna bother you all too much,” Jack says. They’re both comfortable on David’s bed, David doing his homework and Jack looking at a book. 

 

“Okay, here, I’ll…I’ll walk you out,” David doesn’t want him to leave, but he stands up anyways and offers him a hand. He walks him to the door, and then to the stairs. 

 

“Your family’s real nice, Dave,” Jack gives him a smile, and David’s heart melts a little. He’s glad he isn’t leaving, not yet, at least. He isn’t making any sign of moving towards to the stairs. “Like my family.” 

 

“Thanks,” David says. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess. After school. I come back at three, so if you…if you want to come and stop by, feel free to.”

 

“Alright. Well, I’ll see ya later,” Jack turns around and begins to head down the stairs. 

 

“Wait,” David says, his voice raising a little. He’s a desperate fool, but he wants to hold onto Jack, the one and only person he ever felt at home with, and the person he felt is genuinely be his friend, unlike the boys at school who make an attempt to befriend him, with snide comments and snickering and hitting. “Jack.” He’s relieved Jack stops moving, and turns around again to face him. “Do you want to, maybe, stay the night?”

 

“Naw,” Jack’s smile slips away a little. “I gotta place to stay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dave.” 

 

“Um,” David extends his hand a bit uncertainly, and Jack grabs onto it. David smiles back. He feels a bit off, all of a sudden, like he’s had a sudden realization that he must have forgot something that he needed, but he can’t seem to remember what he forgot. Jack’s fingers are rough and dry, in comparison to David’s soft and well sheltered hands. His hands are feeling the side of David’s fingers, and he’s suddenly breathless, wanting a bit more of something that he can’t seem to put into words. His fingers are skimming over his palm now, making David want to squirm because it’s a ticklish feeling.

 

“I…” Jack looks down at their hands, and then pulls himself up to lean forward. David can now hear him breathing, shallow, quick breaths. David wonders if he’s breathing like that too, he’s practically trembling, but it isn’t like he’s afraid, he’s just…he’s something, but he can’t seem to find the words to describe it, which makes him sigh out of frustration. “It was nice talkin’ to ya, Dave. I’m glad I met you.” 

 

He doesn’t know why, and it’s odd, but his heart skips a beat and he can’t help but smile, a real, genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and he wants to laugh a little at how absurd this situation is. “I’m glad too.”

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. After school.” He has a strange smile on his face, one that David hasn’t seen before, not the charming one, or the joking one, or any of the other ones. It’s a smile that he can only describe as a mix of happy and endearment. He pulls away, and before David has a chance to regret the loss, Jack is heading down the stairs. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then another chapter! I'm trying to take their relationship a bit slow...but since I'm writing so much, I'm not sure how slow I should go.   
> Thank you for all the support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Two

Coming home after a rough day at school is like some sort of heaven on Earth, especially since David is almost always the first one to arrive home. He’s able to ease himself into the solitude and focus on nothing else but his homework, usually able to distract his mind from the school day. It was, really, the thing that helps him keep going on and on and not give in to the temptation to call home and ask his mother to pick him up and if he could drop out of school. A high school drop out, however, has no real future, at least in David’s mind. And he has to have a future, he has to be out there, out in New York, as some successful person, instead of in this cramped apartment, barely able to afford food. Really, those were the only reasons that he is able to drag himself out of bed in the ungodly hours of the mornings, when the sun is barely rising, bathing the sky in pink and orange and blue, and then about thirty minutes later, saying goodbyes to his mother and shouldering his heavy backpack, and walking out the door, heading to school. But of course, today is different. As he’s walking home from school, he wonders if Jack is home. Or at least, at David’s home. He doesn’t have the keys, so he must be waiting out there. That thought makes David walk even quicker, nearing a jog but not quite there.

 

Now that Jack is in his life, David can pass the time in-between assignments and classes, thinking about him, what he should do if he came home and found that Jack kept his promise. Since he has an English test tomorrow, he decides that he should study as quickly as he can. English is easy for him, so it shouldn’t take too long. Even know, David can think about Jack to pass time. So he does, because he has nothing better to think about. He tries to figure out what color Jack’s hair is, a dirty blonde or golden brown. When he can’t figure that out, he moves on to thinking about how he should ask Jack about himself. Getting to know Jack seems like a good idea. His family likes him, since David’s mother praised David for “finding such a polite young man” and David’s father telling him that he’d  “like to see Jack more often”. Les adores him, he knows, because the look in his eyes are practically filled with love and he followed Jack around, even imitating Jack when he isn’t looking sometimes. Sarah talked about Jack occasionally that night with an adoring tone, a dreamy look in her eyes that makes David feel a little sick. 

 

Even thinking about the idea that Sarah might like Jack and date him makes David feel a bit unwell, like he stuffed himself with something that didn’t quite agree with his stomach, without the uncomfortable aftertaste and feeling that he was on the verge of burping. David reasons that it probably makes him feel that way is most likely because the idea of his sister dating his friend and being flirty around him would be an uncomfortable experience for him. He would have to pretend not to see them holding hands or kissing and walking in on them when they’re doing…private things would be awkward and a bit upsetting as a whole. Not only that, but he wouldn’t be able to see Jack that often, and their moment last night couldn’t have been just friendly affection. The atmosphere in the air was a bit too intimate and what kind of friend holds your hands and tells you that they’re glad to have met you? Even if Jack is a bit strange, David is sure that Jack is at least, knows the boundaries between friendship and intimate relationships. 

 

Realizing what he’s thinking about, David lowers his head and stares at the ground, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. They had just met yesterday, so it was no use to think about that. Jack was probably acting on a whim, not even thinking about what he was doing. And for all he knew, Jack could have done that to his other friends too. 

 

David probably isn’t special at all to him. 

 

The thought makes him feel a bit unsettled. Shaking his head and walking quicker as he looks up and spots the looming building of the apartment, he stops in front of the door and pushes it open, hurrying in and practically running up the stairs. He can see Jack now, but he can’t let him know that he’s this eager about seeing him after school, because Jack might find it strange and maybe he didn’t like the idea of men liking other men (not that he was saying that he does, but Jack might think David does). He stops for a moment to steady his breathing, and once his breathing is at a somewhat normal rate, he continues climbing the stairs a lot slower than before. When he turns the corner to continue walking to his home, he finds that Jack is, indeed, waiting for David. He’s holding something white and rectangular like in his hands, and David ducks his head to hide his grin. 

 

Just seeing Jack makes him happy enough to smile without even trying. Even though that is a bit odd, David brushes it off as him being excited to see his friend. He tries to relax his facial features, but he gets distracted by the fact that Jack actually came, and then, “Hey!” He says, straightening his back and walking forward quicker and quicker, until he’s jogging towards Jack. Jack looks at him and beams. 

 

“Davey!” He holds out his arms and because  David isn’t too much of a touchy feely person, he just awkwardly smiles again and digs through his pockets to find his keys. Jack drops his arms and then there’s the usual arm around him. “How was school?”

 

“Fine,” he replies. It’s practically automatic, he doesn’t have to think about his answer before the simple word just shoots out of his mouth. 

 

“You busy? I can take ya to Brooklyn to see Spot Conlon!” Jack says enthusiastically, and David has to laugh even though no joke was exchanged. “Or I can show you Medda, maybe she’ll put on a show.”

 

“Medda?  _ The _ Medda?” David asks. He’s surprised because yesterday Jack had mentioned her and refused any explanation as to who she was. He puts his key in the lock and turns it, jostling it a little like he usually does. There’s a click and the door is unlocked, so he turns the handle. Once inside with the door locked again, he drops his backpack, it landing with a heavy thud.

 

“Yeah, her.” Jack kicks at his backpack. “Whaddya put in here, bricks?”   
  
“You can try lifting it,” David says, sitting down at the kitchen table to watch him. Some people have tried to lift his backpack, but to no avail, exclaiming that they couldn’t believe he lugged this around all day. He wonders if Jack is strong enough to lift it. He probably is. 

 

“Sure.” Jack has this wary expression on his face and David laughs.

 

“It’s not going to bite you, Jack.”

 

“I know! But it’s so intimidatin’ it’s like starin’ down a tiger o’ some sort…” He wrapped his hand around the strap, and lifted it up, letting out a couple of gasps and swear words before dropping it to the floor. “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to carry this alllll over the place, y’know?” 

 

“No,” David says, and because he’s feeling a bit mean today, he walks up to Jack, bends down and lifts the backpack up easily, slinging it over his shoulder. His left shoulder aches a bit at the sudden weight, but he ignores it and walks to his shared room, dropping it again. “I have an English test tomorrow. It shouldn’t take me too long to finish it. I don’t have any other homework.” 

 

He did his homework whenever he could, just in case Jack came home, and successfully finished all of it, much to his surprise and proudness. 

 

“Alright.” Jack sits down on David’s bed and David unzips his backpack. He takes out a tattered folder labeled “ENGLISH” on the front. Even though he has a desk reserved for studying next to his bed, he chooses to sit down next to Jack. He leans into him, reading the words aloud under his breath, feeling that he’s more comfortable next to Jack than he has ever been at his desk.

 

\---

 

“I’m off,” he calls to his sister, who arrived shortly after Jack and David settled on his bed. “Tell Mom I’ll be home by dinner.” 

 

“Bye!” She waves, smiling even broader when Jack passes by. 

 

“Can I come?” Les asks, dropping his wooden sword to sit up and gaze at David with his pleading eyes. David bites his lip. Although he would rather be alone with Jack, he figures that Les should come out more often, since he hasn’t been taking him out for walks lately. 

 

“Sure!” Jack answers for David, and Les smiles from ear to ear, hopping down from his chair. David opens the door and after they’re all out, Jack says, “So, let’s let the kid choose. Who you wanna see, Spot Conlon and Racetrack or Medda?” 

 

“Spot?” Les blinks, looking up at Jack. “Racetrack?”

 

“Just like your big brother here, they’re my pals.” Jack puts his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and then claps his back. David pushes him, and continues walking. Les hurries to catch up with them. 

 

“Are any of them scary?” 

 

Jack laughs, and stops to ruffle Les’ hair. “‘Parrently, ‘cause Boots was tellin’ me that Spot Conlon makes everybody a little nervous.” Jack pronounces nervous as ‘noi-vus’ and David suppresses the urge to laugh at how ridiculous it sounds. He replays the sound over and over in his head, trying to search for a better word or sentence to describe it besides ridiculous. He settles on ‘a tiny bit cute’. Even if it does sound a bit odd, Jack can be described with a plethora of things, from ‘rough and tough’ to ‘goofy’ and then to ‘charmingly endearing’.

 

“Does he scare you?” Les fixes his hair from it’s mussed up appearance before David even has the chance to swoop in and help him. 

 

“No, he don’t make me nervous!” Jack proudly pounds his chest, and then he’s running down the stairs, “let’s race to the bottom!” 

 

He takes off laughing, with Les running after him, his shorter legs having to work extra hard to even be a foot or so behind Jack. David follows them, picking up the pace from the pleasant pace he adopted earlier, and when Les is out of his sight because he turned the corner to the first floor, David is running too, practically sprinting once he catches up with Les. Les pauses for a moment to rest with David, and then runs off again, leaving David dazed and wondering how out of shape he is compared to Jack and Les. 

 

He walks down the stairs, careful to not miss his step, and then turns another corner to see Les and Jack waiting for him, much to his embarrassment. He jogs to get to them, and then Jack’s hand is shoving his head back. “Slowpoke!” He accuses, laughing, and David staggers backward, a hand on the wall to get his balance back. 

 

“I’m not slow!” He says indignantly, and pushes the door open, ushering Les out. 

 

“David, your ears are red,” Les says, his eyes squinting against the sunlight, the hand over his eyes doing nothing. 

 

“I,” David stammers, and then he gives up on talking altogether, because stuttering and blushing wasn’t going to get him anywhere. There’s amiable chatter between Jack and Les as they walk to Brooklyn, with David occasionally commenting on the subject. That is, until they’re on the Brooklyn Bridge, and David can’t help but say, “I’ve never been to Brooklyn before.”

 

“Really?” Jack looks surprised at this, as if seeing Brooklyn was an everyday thing. “Y’know, my friend Boots, he says that he spent a month there one night.” 

 

“That makes no sense,” David comments. 

 

“Not supposed to,” Jack says with a shrug, and then he bends down towards Les. “C’mon, you gotta look at the bottom!” Les obediently climbs on and then before David can stop him, Jack is leaning over the edge, and lets out a loud, “WOAAHHHHHHHH!” and Les joins him.

 

“That’s dangerous!” David says, smacking his shoulder, and Jack moves back from the edge, bending over again so Les can get off. David sneaks a view at the bottom while Jack and Les are distracted. He regrets it immediately. The view was dizzying, and the floor underneath him felt like it was swaying back and forth, and that leaning forward anymore was going to send him flying into the water. His stomach gets that tingly feeling it always does when he’s nervous, and he backs away from the edge, not wanting to look down anymore. “Hold on, Jack.” 

 

“Yeah?” He looks up from tying Les’ shoe, and he’s obviously struggling. 

 

“First, let me tie that. You haven’t ever tied a shoe, haven’t you?” David nudges him away and Jack huffs, but moves so David can crouch and tie it properly. 

 

“Howddya do that?” Jack asks, and his face is right next to David’s. David inhales deeply and exhales just as deeply, trying to calm his pounding heart. 

 

“It doesn’t matter. You aren’t wearing shoes with laces, right?” David asks, standing up and puts a hand on Les’ shoulder, guiding him to the end of the bridge. 

 

\---

 

“Heya Jack!” A short male who looked about thirteen was dressed in as equally strange attire as Jack. David wonders if he’s getting a glimpse at history. His checkered vest, unbuttoned collar and cap makes him look awfully old timey. “Who’re they?” 

 

“My pals!” Jack says, and his elbow is on David’s shoulder. He’s putting some of his weight on David, and David sways a little, trying to support the extra weight. “The one I told ya ‘bout!” David feels a swell of warmth at the fact that Jack was talking about him. But then again, it wasn’t only him, so he wasn’t too special.

 

“You are…?” David raises an eyebrow.

 

“Racetrack,” he supplies. “Nice ta meet ya pal!” He extends his hand and David shakes it. His hands are warm and small. “David, right? And the kid is…”

 

“Yeah, I’m David,” he says. 

 

“My name’s Les!” Les pipes up, and Racetrack smiles. 

 

“Hey, hey, wanna play a game o’ cards?” Racetrack is taking out a deck, expertly shuffling them in his hands in a complicated manner that David has never seen before. 

 

“Don’t make him bet money, Race,” Jack says, and pulls David past Racetrack by his arm. 

“Wait, Jack!” Racetrack turns around, and Jack stops to give him a quizzical look. “Make sure you tell him, okay?” 

 

“I will!” Jack has a hand on David’s back, and is pushing him forward. 

 

“Tell who what?” David asks, letting himself get pushed. 

 

“Nothin’. Tell ya later. We’s gonna find Spot and talk,” Jack gives him a reassuring smile, and David sighs. He will only have to put up with not knowing this ‘secret’ until later comes. Comforted that Jack will eventually tell him everything, David leans into him, unaware of where they were going. Jack stops in front of a secluded area, an alleyway, which is extremely suspicious. David tries to remember how much money he brought with him, if he brought anything worth anything. He draws a blank, the preparation to this trip was short and a haze in David’s mind. “Spot!” 

 

The person that comes out from the alleyway is skinny. He’s wearing a checkered collared shirt, has a cane (for aesthetic purposes, David assumes) and red suspenders. This somewhat odd assortment of clothing makes David feel extremely well clothed and put together, in his old, faded t-shirt from years ago and jeans. David assumes he’s the feared Spot Conlon, and Spot isn’t wearing a cap like Racetrack. “Whaddya want?” He grumbles, irritated, obviously. 

 

“Just wanted to see my old friend after he got oh so smashingly drunk,” Jack laughs, “and I wanted to introduce you to my pal, Dave.”

 

“David,” David corrects, and Spot Conlon frowns. He’s looking him up and down and it makes David wonder if his clothes contain some sort of secret message that Spot really did not approve of.

 

“Wait a sec, hold on,” Spot puts up a hand and then grabs Jack by the collar, forcing him to come closer. David would’ve laughed, but he’s wary of him. His confusion increases when Jack and Spot begin whispering, sometimes getting loud enough for David to make out words like ‘deadlines’ and ‘why the hell did you make friends with him?’. Jack seems to get more and more agitated as the conversation drags on, so David says, 

 

“Listen, if this is some important business, I can just go get Les and go home. It’s no use to be here if you’re just going to keep on talking about things that I’m not supposed to hear right in front of me.” It’s an empty threat, just words, but Jack gives him this sort of desperate look and Spot folds his arms. 

 

“What is this, Jacky boy, some sorta walkin’ mouth?” Spot lets out a snort at the end of his sentence. 

 

“Well, he got brains, and if you got halfa one, you’d listen. He’s real smart,” Jack says, and he seems proud. David can’t help but stand a little straighter at his compliment. “He even goes to school and learns all these fancy words and complicated math problems!” Why Jack is so amazed by that fact is something David doesn’t know. He just assumes that maybe Jack lived in an isolated area, where school wasn’t as easy to access.

 

“School?” Spot furrows his brow. “What’s a walkin’ mouth who goes to school doin’ with a street rat like you?” 

 

“It’s because of my God given talent,” Jack says, patting his chest, and Spot rolls his eyes while David laughs. 

 

\---

 

Once they’re back home, Les immediately goes to bed. Because David shares a bed with Les, he doesn’t want to bother him, so they sit at the kitchen table after dinner. “So what was it you had to talk to me about?” 

 

“Tell ya later.” His response is automatic. “When I’m gonna leave.”

 

“Okay,” David says. He feels a bit disappointed that Jack won’t stay the night, but it doesn’t matter. There’s always next time. “Then, let’s take this time to ask questions.”

 

“Sure,” Jack leans back in his chair. “Whaddya wanna learn about me?”

 

David contemplates this. There’s a lot he wants to learn about Jack, but he eventually asks him, “Do you have any dreams? For the future?” Because if Jack plans on up and moving out of New York, he can’t allow himself to get too close and suffer from some sort of heartbreak. 

 

“I don’t got no future,” Jack says, and his eyes are trained on the ceiling. David glances at him, biting his lip, before reaching out to place his hand on Jack’s. His hands are warm, warmer than David’s hands, which are cold despite the summer heat. 

 

“Everyone does. Do you want to go somewhere? Or do you want to stay here?” David desperately hopes that he says that he wants to stay here, because David can’t stand the idea of Jack leaving him here, despite him barely knowing Jack.

 

“I wanna go to Santa Fe, but…” He trails off. “But I can’t.”

 

“Why?” David presses, even though his gut is telling him not to. He wants to know more about Jack, and it’s a stubborn thing, nagging him in the corner of his mind during school, even as he was doing things that required his full attention.

 

“No money.” The front legs of Jack’s chair lifts off the ground, and David puts his hand on the back of the chair and pushes it back. Jack smiles at him and then his eyes go back to the ceiling. David doesn’t know what’s so interesting about the ceiling, it’s plain white and empty, excluding the occasional dent and scratches. He follows Jack’s eyes, because he’s curious. But maybe it’s because Jack doesn’t want to look at him. “And, I got friends here. I got  _ you _ .”

 

David’s heart flutters at that, like it’s a caged butterfly, struggling to escape his chest, but it isn’t fearful or hurt, it’s...it’s hopeful. David wants to believe that Jack thinks importantly of him, but he can’t. Jack has so many other friends, so many other people he can connect to, so many other people who can replace him. That train of thought makes David feel queasy, so he abandons it, opting to squeeze Jack’s hand, because he forgot to remove his hand from the top of his. He wants to focus on anything but his feelings so he lifts Jack’s hand up to inspect it, as if it’s some treasure, but it practically  _ is _ , it’s part of Jack and Jack - 

 

And then David tries to stop thinking altogether because he isn’t supposed to think that. Even though he doesn’t think of men liking men as a problem, the possibility that he might  _ love _ Jack unsettles him altogether. So he tries to concentrate on Jack’s hand, tries to ignore the prickle of his neck because he knows that Jack is watching him. When staring at Jack’s hand proves to not do it’s originally intended job, he just lets go and scoots closer to Jack. He wants to be close to Jack. Jack puts an arm around him and leans against him, pulling up his knees against his chest and wraps his knees with his other arm, looking like a little child. David copies him, except he puts his hands on top of his knees. Jack’s breath tickles his neck, and he squirms a little because he’s a bit ticklish. 

 

They sit like that for the rest of the evening, in complete silence, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. David still longs to be closer to Jack, but he doesn’t understand why, because they’re close enough, and then he checks to see if Jack is still awake. His eyes are closed and his mouth is slightly open. David suddenly wonders how he’ll get him to bed, and if he can somehow squeeze himself in there. Slipping out of his grasp, David stares down at his unconscious form. Maybe Sarah can help. Eyes flitting to their shared bedroom, David walks there, and to his surprise, Sarah is still awake. She’s reading. 

 

“Sarah?” David asks quietly. She looks up from her book and closes it. “Come here.” He motions for her to follow him, and while she marks her page and puts it down, he turns away and walks to the kitchen room. “Jack fell asleep, and I need help moving him to my bed…”

 

“Oh,” Sarah says softly. Her voice is barely audible. She grabs his arm and lifts it up so she can slip under it. David does the same, and then he slips out because it won’t work. 

 

“Here, let’s try to move the chair and then dump him on the bed,” David suggests. Sarah nods, and then pushes the chair, cringing at the screech it makes, and then she picks up the pace once David is beside her and pushing too. The screeching stops once they get him on the carpeted floor of the bedrooms, and David is glad that he won’t have to grimace. He stops once they’re right in front of his bed, and carefully tips the chair. Jack lands face first into the mattress, and he wonders how Jack can sleep through this all. Really, he’s glad that he can. Sarah lets out a quiet laugh, and then lifts his legs up onto the bed while David rolls him over so he’s on his back. He pushes him again, into Les, and mutters a soft, “thanks”, to Sarah. They stand there for a moment, just looking at Jack, and then Sarah walks to her bed and turns off the light, plunging them into darkness.

  
“Goodnight,” and then there’s some rustling of the blankets and some creaking, and David doesn’t respond. He rolls over, lifts himself up onto one elbow, and leans over Jack’s sleeping form. He doesn’t know if he should do this, but he decides to take a chance, so he dips his head down and then presses his lips against Jack’s forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to remember how it felt like to have a fever at school and believe nothing is wrong , but that was a year ago, so this chapter may be a bit inaccurate.   
> Please enjoy!

Chapter Three

David has had this feeling for all of today, that he was having the worst headache he's ever had, his head is aching, pounding, and his limbs sore. His throat feels funny. It's cold, so cold he’s shivering, and he feels faint and a little weak, and is glad when he's able to go home, hoping the fresh air will help. 

 

He tries to focus on anything else but the worsening pounding of his head as he walks, so he presses his ice cold fingers against the back of his neck, exhaling loudly when it relieves the discomfort. Jack. He doesn't know why he suddenly enters his mind as he's walking home, feeling as if he might collapse any second, from the cold (even though it was nearing summer it felt like the Arctic had come to New York) or the pain, he didn't know.

 

Jack. Yesterday, he kissed his forehead. He doesn’t know why but a fresh wave of nausea hits him so he puts his foot down heavily, over and over again, one in front of the other, until he can lean against a pole. 

 

David tries to think of Jack, tries to remember him. It's disorientating and confusing when you're about to collapse, and David tells himself he better get home and then sleep for forever, so he stumbles forward, like he's in a drunken stupor. Jack has brown eyes, David recalls. Brown eyes and golden brown hair. Smooth skin. David laughs to himself, nearly falling over because he forgot to move his feet, because he just thought of Jack as a golden wheat field. If Jack is a golden wheat field, is that why he’s so drawn to the west? Wouldn’t that mean that he’s fated to go there?

 

Become a wild cowboy, and leave David at New York?

 

David stops laughing because it makes his head hurt even more, but mainly because the thought that Jack would leave him grips him in icy cold fear, making him feel even colder. He looks around, trying to find something his muddled brain could remember, and realizing he’s almost home. So he continues trudging on, until he almost bumps into the door of the apartment. 

 

Pushing it open requires more effort than David expects, so it takes a while to muster up the strength to push the door open. Once he finally has it open, he wishes he could drop his backpack and just sleep. He wonders if in the future, people in pain could sleep until their pain went away. If David were to do that, how long would it take? He walks to the elevator and presses the button repeatedly until the doors open, each time not registering properly in his brain. He gets inside, and presses floor two. Going to the stairs, he figures, would take too long. 

 

When he steps out, his headache feels worse, and he feels as if he's treading on air. His head feels too heavy, to the point where he wouldn't be surprised if his neck snapped trying to support it. Letting out a soft groan, he presses his now colder fingers against his neck, wishing he could press a cold towel on the back of his neck and be done with it. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, he’s barely aware of the bending of his knees as he takes each step and his feet thudding against the floor. That is, until he looks up and notices that Jack is leaning against the door, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling. He feels a surge of relief for some reason, he could just collapse on Jack and it would be okay, right? David’s thoughts feel lucid now, slipping in and out of his mind in such smooth motions, David has barely any idea of what he’s thinking. 

 

“Jack,” he says, and he’s so close to him. David steps forward again and again until he slumps right in front of him, despite his rational thought telling himself that he should hold himself together before collapsing, resting his forehead on Jack’s shoulder. His neck aches, and he feels Jack’s hands against his back. Didn’t he look at them yesterday?

 

“David?” He asks. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m…” He searches for the words, his disorganized thought process taking a while to supply him with a sentence that made somewhat sense. “I’m gonna collapse.”

 

“Gimme the keys,” Jack orders. There’s a hint of panic in there, and David tells himself that he’s been waiting for, what, eight hours? and that collapsing suddenly would do no good if Jack was panicked and confused. David hands over the keys, dropping them in his hands without even lifting up his head. Jack’s shoulder move up and down and the keys clink together as he works to shove it in the door. Eventually when he figures it out, he kicks open the door and tells him, “lean on me, okay, Dave? Lemme see what’s wrong.” 

 

“Alright,” he manages. He just wants to feel better. David wants to get rid of the headache and the cold and the faintness and everything. Holding on to that thought desperately as other thoughts invade his mind, he stumbles backwards from Jack and then Jack has an arm around him. 

 

“C’mon, you’re gonna siddown,” Jack says, leading him to his bed and David plops onto the bed. “How ya feelin’?”

 

“Cold.” David closes his eyes once he sees Jack leaning over and for a moment he wonders if they were about to kiss. Cheeks scalding hot and a sudden feeling of dizziness, he blindly grabs for Jack’s hand, which is cold. He feels Jack’s other hand against his forehead and he can’t think of anything else except for the word “cold” and “Jack’s hands”. 

 

“You’re burnin’ up,” Jack says, in what seems like a sincerely concerned voice. David hopes he is. David opens his eyes to look at Jack’s face, not sure what he’s looking for exactly, but looking for something to hold onto, looking for someone or something to grab onto before he slips away into the clutches of this faint vibration in his body and this deep, widespread ache and strange fusion of heaviness and lightness. “Hold on.” 

 

And then Jack disappears from his sight, leaving David alone and hoping that he won’t pass out right now from exhaustion. He hears the sound of Jack crashing into things and swear words coming from the kitchen. David suppresses a smile, and grabs the corner of his bed and lifts it up so he can slip inside and wait for Jack. Jack comes back, hair messier than before and a triumphant grin on his face. “I found it!” He’s holding some sort of cold medicine in his right hand and a cup of water and a spoon in his left. David feels a lurch in his stomach because he hates the cold medicine, hates the feel of the slimy liquid crawling down his throat, leaving a not even fruity aftertaste. 

 

Jack unscrews the bottle with some struggle, not sure what direction to go, and David laughs within the haze of his fuzzy head. "Can it, Dave," Jack says in an affectionate voice (but David isn't sure if it's just his delirium causing him to misinterpret some things), and then he pours the gooey liquid into the spoon, and then says, "open your mouth."

 

"I can hold it," David says, laughter bubbling up his throat because this situation is just too funny. Jack, someone he had met, what, two days ago? Is about to spoon feed him because he’s sick. Jack. Jack is funny. Jack makes a funny face, causing David to smile and hands him the spoon. David shoves it into his mouth, a bit clumsily and a bit too hard, feeling the spoon clink against his teeth a little. The disgusting liquid seeped down his throat, and he shudders, taking the spoon out of his mouth and handing it to Jack, who leaves the room to put it away.

 

He comes back with a towel, and folds it up. It squelches and David watches him. He has this concentrated look on his face and his hair is falling out from it's previous slicked back position, and his tongue is peeking out of the corner of his mouth. David almost laughs again because Jack is something, something aesthetically pleasing, but he can't find the words. He decides on handsome, even if it doesn’t  _ feel  _ right, his mind is too fuzzy to think of anything else.

 

"Drink from that cup," Jack tilts his head towards the cup, and David obediently takes it and drinks as much as he can in one gulp. He sets it back down on the table, and lies down, resting his head on his pillow because his neck aches too much, and his head feels too heavy for his neck to support. Jack drops the towel on his forehead and it lands with a satisfying smack and water trickles out. David squints, trying to avoid getting water in his eyes.

 

"You need anythin' else, Davey?" Jack reaches over and squeezes his hand, and David realizes that he wants him. Want is different from need, but maybe this time, it’s the same thing.

 

"Lie down next to me," he says quietly. He doesn't know where this sudden bravery is coming from. He just wants Jack. Jack Jack Jack. "Please." He adds, after seeing Jack's expression change into something he can't describe. He assumes that he's angry, or maybe disgusted, but Jack has that easy grin on his face again and he leaves and David has a little panicked feeling, wondering if he left, but he appears again, in a plain white undershirt and dark brown pants, his clothes carelessly tossed into his arm. He climbs over David after dropping them on the floor.

 

"Try ta sleep, Dave," Jack's voice is quiet now, his hand is holding David's and it's a bit distracting but comforting at the same time.

 

"Jack?" He asks. Jack squeezes his hand and David is barely aware of the words leaving his mouth. "What did Racetrack want you to tell me?”

 

Jack inhales a little sharply, and then, "Nothin'. I'll tell ya later, you's sick, Dave. You needa rest."

 

David closes his eyes and tries to focus on the calm of Jack leaning into him, of Jack holding his hand, of Jack. Jack is calm, even though he's usually so energetic and buzzes around like a bee in search of honey. David wonders if he stings anybody. And then he brings his mind back to Jack because his thumb is tracing the dip between David's index finger and thumb. It fills him with happiness and shivers of cold go down his spine.

 

If David could stay like this for forever, he would. Life is good when Jack is near.

 

\---

 

When David wakes up, the towel on his head isn't cold anymore. It's a little moist and hot and it reminds him of a summer day where it's disgustingly humid and warm. Moist. David peels it off and places it on the study table next to his bed, struggling a bit to navigate his hand in the darkness. He doesn't feel cold anymore, although a bit hot and uncomfortable, his headache is mostly gone. His mind isn't fuzzy and…he rolls over, finding that Jack is next to him still. David smiles, and then ducks his head and blushes because they're in bed together and he isn't even too sure how Jack got there.

 

He rolls over again to find his phone, choosing to land his hand wherever he deems fit, his hand landing in thuds and he finds the smooth back of his phone. Bracing himself for the inevitable pain and squinting, he turns it over and turns it on. 7:10. He was asleep for about three hours. David sets his phone down and considers waking Jack up. He wonders if he should ask him about what happened, if he did anything weird, and then apologize if he did.

 

He only really remembers trying to get through the school day and stumbling back home, and finding Jack there. He draws a blank when he tries to remember the fine details, or what happened next. He settles on trying to wake Jack up.

 

"Jack," he whispers, reaching over and tapping his back. "Jack!"

 

Jack doesn't stir at all.

 

He decides on getting water from the kitchen to help with his still sore throat. Trying to move out of bed without waking Jack proves to be a difficult task, as he has to untangle his legs from Jack's and his hand from Jack's. When he manages to get free, he walks to the kitchen, a bit clumsily because his legs are still sore.

 

The kitchen light is too bright for David's liking. He has to shield his eyes and squint. "David!" Les' surprised voice. David blinks wildly because he has to remove his hand to find him.

 

"Yeah?" He asks, looking around. There's still dinner on the table, plates for David and Jack. He doesn’t feel hungry right now though.

 

"What happened?" Sarah asks, "When I came home, you were in bed with Jack and you had a towel on your head…"

 

Trying to ignore the burning of his cheeks, he says, "I had a fever. Jack was there when I came, so he helped me out."

 

"Wow! Jack's so nice," Les says, jumping up to sit in his chair. He has his wooden sword and is waving it around, almost like a flag, except he's twisting and turning his arm. "I wanna be like him someday."

 

"I'm going to go back to sleep," he says, heading to his room. Despite sleeping for four hours or so, he's still tired. It seems like sleeping for only six to four hours on average has caught up to him.

 

"Goodnight," Sarah calls, and David turns around to give her a smile.

 

He walks into the darkened room, and comes back inside his bed. There's the rustling of the bedsheets and David assumes it's Jack trying to get more comfortable in his sleep.

 

"Hey," Jack says softly. David swallows hard and for a moment he can't breathe. He can face a sleeping Jack and sleep, but he can't face an awake Jack and sleep. "You feelin' better? You was in pretty bad shape when you came home. I mean, came back ta here."

 

“I’m fine. What did Racetrack want you to tell me?” 

 

Then there's a hand on his arm, and it's squeezing it. "I... Don’t be mad at me, okay?”   
  
“I won’t.”

 

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna die.” 

 

And then David inhales and exhales and it sounds forced, but David needs to breathe and collect his thoughts. "Do you know when?" His arm moves and when he's fully aware of what's happening, he has an arm over Jack and his hand is touching his back, grabbing at his clothes for a better grip, and he's close enough to hear Jack breathe and feel the hot air hit his face. He wants to touch him. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of Jack floating away and leaving him if he doesn’t have a proper grip on him, if he isn’t near.

 

"Got five months to be alive 'n kickin'." Even if he can't see Jack in the darkness he knows that he's probably grinning, even though there’s nothing to smile about. Maybe that’s how Jack copes with pain, David realizes. He laughs and laughs and laughs, hoping it’ll chase away the sadness. He puts on a happy face, like an actor on stage, but he isn’t on stage. 

 

“Five months?” David asks, and his voice is almost timid as he grasps Jack’s hands, desperate to hold onto something, because he feels dizzy and like he’s falling. Falling, falling, falling. 

 

"Yeah.” Jack sounds fairly uncomfortable now, and David’s head is buzzing. Five months. Five months. That isn’t long at all. “If you want me to leave, then go ahead. Kick me out.”

 

"I would never want you to leave," David says, in what he hopes is a sincere tone. Jack is leaning forward, and in the dim lighting, he can barely make out his closed eyes, so David closes his eyes too to see if this was what he wanted and then -

 

And then Jack is just pressing his face against David's curved shoulder. David feels a surge of disappointment and relief, but he tries to chase away the disappointment because Jack is his best friend, he shouldn't be thinking that Jack wants to kiss him whenever they're close.

 

"But now…" Jack says a bit breathlessly. His voice is muffled by David's clothes."but now you know. I’ve told a bunch of people this and they avoided me. Are you planning to?”

 

David considers this, and shakes his head before remembering Jack can’t see him. “I wouldn’t ever avoid you.” They’re bold words, but David doesn’t plan on backing out of this. Life is no longer duller, and there’s something he can look forward to after school, besides an empty apartment, he has someone who can make him happy, and for once, he has a friend that he trusts and  _ wants  _ to be with. This is more than just a simple friendship, something that can easily shattered (at least, David hopes it is) by one thing that can be sorted out within seconds. 

 

Jack pulls away from his shoulder, and David thinks that he must be beaming at him because he doesn’t hear any words from him. It’s silent and David’s hand is nestled in the curve of Jack’s back, his face right in front of Jack’s, but Jack says, “Tell me somethin’ ‘bout yourself you don’t tell normal folks.” 

 

David tries to think of all the things he avoided telling and lied about. He doesn’t lie often, as it’s troublesome and keeping up a façade just for the sake of, say, hurting someone, just isn’t worth the trouble. Not only that, but his father taught him not to lie, and the idea of seeing his disappointed face when he finds out about David lying or cheating fills him with dread and guiltiness. But he thinks about that one time at school, which started the many other times, that he always lied about. He can tell Jack that...right? He nervously bites his lip and tries to find something else to talk about, but his mind draws a blank. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, he says, his voice quiet and he’s so afraid but he can’t lie to Jack, “One time, my classmates…”

 

“Yeah?” Jack says encouragingly after a long, prominent silence. David flounders, trying to find the right words to put it less harshly and accusing and more trivial. 

 

“They hit me,” he continues, and his voice is barely a whisper. There’s silence from Jack, and for some reason, it frightens him. 

 

“What?” Jack demands. “They...they, what? When? Who? Do they still…?”

 

David’s gut twists at that, and he reluctantly says, “Sometimes.” There’s some silence, and then David hastily adds, trying to make it seem less serious, “but don’t worry about it, Jack. It isn’t too bad. Just...just drop it, okay?”  _ I just come home with a couple of bruises, _ he thinks.

 

“Sure, Dave. I’ll drop it.” Jack lets out a sigh of resignation, and David’s discomfort alleviates. He’s glad that they’re done talking about it. But he has a question nagging him in the back of his mind, and it’ll probably bother for a while until he asks him now. 

 

“Are you…Are you afraid? Of dying?” David asks, and he hears footsteps coming into the room so he immediately lets go of Jack and pretends that he was just lying on his back, not touching Jack at all. Jack’s hand seeks out his own, and then they’re back to the stairway, where Jack was cradling his hand and making David squirm, except they know each other better now and Jack is inside David’s bed. David gets that strange feeling again, and it’s a bit more intense. He feels like he should do something but he doesn’t know what, exactly, and he can’t do anything because someone, who he assumes is Sarah, because he hears the drawer open and the rustling of fabric, is inside the room and he’s afraid of making this situation even stranger. The person walks out of the room, and David can do whatever he wants, well, almost anything, because Jack obviously wouldn’t like him kissing him or - 

 

David pauses, and he is amazed at how often his thoughts wander to kissing. It’s strange, because Jack - someone he barely knows - is changing his life so much and is making him think about kissing so much more often. Which is strange, because before, David never got these thoughts. He began to think that maybe he was too practical about it, but he hadn’t even thought of the fact that a  _ boy _ would cause him to think about kissing and induce such a deep longing in him that he’s never felt before. 

 

“No. Well, yeah. Maybe. Just a little bit,” Jack says, and for a moment David doesn’t know what he’s referencing for a moment, until he remembers his question from earlier. “But if I got ya by my side, I think I’ll be okay.” 

 

David doesn’t know if he’s trying to be flattering or is just telling the truth. He hopes for the latter. 

 

“D’you believe in ghosts? Life after death?” Jack asks, and his voice is, in a way, sad. 

 

“No. It’s too illogical, if you really think about it, there’s no way it truly exists, because how does someone continue to exist and interact with the world if their systems have failed?” 

 

There’s an odd pause. “...And, can I stay the night? I wanna make sure you don’t get sick on me again.” There’s that flutter in his chest again, and David just feels pleasantly warm, like someone had turned on a light bulb that emits heat in his chest. Warm.

 

“Of course,” David smiles, and presses his face against his chest. “But...we should, you know, make sure that Les can fit in too.”

 

“We’re all nice an’ squeezed in here.” Jack is right, their bodies are practically pressed against each other. Somehow, it doesn’t bother David, even though he isn’t too much of a touchy feely person. Then he hears more footsteps, and then the clatter of something dropping to the ground. Untangling himself from Jack, he peers into the darkness, trying to figure out who the person is. It’s Les, because the figure is small and it’s walking towards the bed. David moves so there’s room. He wonders if he should maybe offer to sleep on the floor, like he did last night. 

 

“Les,” he whispers, and his figure jumps a little in shock. “Here, let me sleep on the floor.”

 

“No, you were sick,” Les replies, “doesn’t that mean you have to take care of yourself?” 

 

“Then…” He can’t possibly tell Jack to sleep on the floor. “Who will?”

 

“I can!” Les says, and it’s too loud so he quiets down, “I mean, unless if you want Jack to sleep on the floor. Is he okay with it?” David rolls around, and before he can open his mouth, Jack answers, 

 

“‘Course. Lemme get down there. Y’gotta spare blanket ‘n pillow?” He’s climbing over David now, and then the light is turned on. David lets out a quiet groan and buries his head in his pillow, before remembering he has to show Jack everything, so he gets out of bed, squinting.

 

“Here,” he grabs a spare pillow and blanket and helps Jack make his bed next to David. Once Jack is comfortable and everyone’s in bed, the light is off again. Meaning that Jack and him could make contact without anyone noticing or caring, so he hangs his arm down the side of the bed, hoping Jack will take notice and grab his hand. His shoulder is going numb, but he waits a little longer, before shifting so his shoulder won’t get that prickly and slight burning feeling for too long. He recalls reading that it means that a nerve is pinched, and having a nerve pinched for too long can cause painful illnesses. He glances down at Jack. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait anymore. So he begins to pull his arm up so it can rest beside him, but it’s pulled back down by Jack.

 

He smiles up at the inky ceiling and Jack laughs quietly. 

  
Being with Jack is something he wants to do for forever.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few pages shorter than usual. I'm trying to figure out the pacing.

Chapter Four  
Walking home with Sarah is one thing. Coming home and not seeing Jack waiting at the door is another. Seeing the empty halls as he rounds the corner makes him feel a little odd. It's funny how much Jack has changed David's daily life, even though he's only known him for four days now.

"David?" Sarah asks him, and David glances at her. "May I…ask you a question? Please don't be mad."

"I wouldn't be mad at you," David says. He hopes his reputation for telling the truth holds up here, because he's curious as to what Sarah has to say. He strolls to their home, and moves to get his keys, but Sarah is already on it, and the door is unlocked.

"Here," Sarah leads him inside, and his curiosity grows stronger. He swings the door shut behind him, Jack would just have to knock, and leans against the door, so if Jack really does come by, he'll know and be the first one to see him. Sarah is busying herself at the kitchen, getting out the cheap cookies their parents had bought last week, since she gets always hungry after school. David watches her, hoping that she wouldn't eat too much of them, as they were his study comfort food, and his exams were coming up. "David, do you like Jack?"

The question surprises him, catches him off guard, and he doesn't quite know how to respond. He settles for a vague answer, "yeah, I do. He's my friend, so of course I like him."

"No," Sarah looks up at him, smiling, a little sadly and David doesn't know what he's done wrong. "Do you love him?"

David chokes, his heart begins to pound and he tries to back away, but he's against the door, so he can't move any further. Hot flashes travel up his spine and he feels an urge to escape, because he doesn't know how to answer that question. This is sudden, and he's trapped, with nowhere to run. "I…what makes you think that?" He asks, stalling, trying not to wince as he stumbles over his words. It's obvious he's uncomfortable.

"You're always together," Sarah says thoughtfully, and pauses to finish eating her cookie. David doesn't even bother to scold her for eating while talking. Unlike some people, she does it a bit delicately, shoving the food to one side of her mouth so you wouldn't see the chewed up contents. "And I saw you this morning, you were holding hands with him. Your face also fell when you noticed that Jack wasn't waiting for you, which I think he does everyday. You're always giving him these little looks that have so much longing. You get flustered whenever someone talks about him being close to you - wait, David," she must've seen the look on his face, " - and you're always touching each other, or sitting close together. And the way you look at him…" Sarah takes in a long, deep breath, and David waits for more, for more humiliation, but it doesn't come.

"How do you tell that you're in love anyways?" He asks, because he needs more time to think. He doesn't even know if he can call it love or infatuation.

Sarah doesn't seem prepared for the question. "Well," she begins, and then glances up at the clock on the wall. Eyes widening, she stands up. "Les! I'll go get him, you stay here and wait for Jack."

He's glad that walking with Les will take ten minutes or so, and Sarah rushes out the door, giving him a quick goodbye. He glances at the door behind him, and then slides down until he's sitting against it. This is ridiculous, and David knows it. He's waiting like a puppy for its owner, and he lets out a frustrated groan because he can't figure this out.

Love, infatuation, or just him being weird? There are three choices, and so many outcomes. The only favorable one, because he doesn't even know if Jack likes men, is the last one. But assuming Jack does like men, why would he love David? And there were so many downsides of loving Jack, he was so afraid, afraid of getting too close, because he was going to die in five months. But shouldn't that mean that he should enjoy the time he has with him and be honest about everything? But what if telling Jack that he liked him, in more than just a friendly way, would he be disgusted? Would he avoid him? The thought of that makes David's stomach twist and gives him a strange feeling in his chest. He ignores it, choosing to drown himself in his thoughts.

What did love even feel like? Or infatuation? His classmates, in elementary school and middle school, all whispered about crushes and the romance books he read in his spare time, all talked about the same thing. Heart racing, blushing, wanting to be with them more, an attraction to them, and more. It all lines up with David's new feelings, but he can't accept it. Maybe they all misinterpreted something, maybe there's something seriously wrong with David, something medically, and it just decided to act up when he met Jack. And if he wanted to know if Jack liked men or not, just in case, how would he ask? Which leads him to square two, is Jack attracted to the same gender?

There's a knock on the door, and David bolts upright, and then opens the door, trying to ignore the fact that his face must be a light shade of red. It's Jack, which makes him feel even more embarrassed. But Jack smells strange, different from his usual ink and freshly printed out paper smell.

"Hey," Jack grins, "didja miss me?"

David chooses not to answer and leans in, sniffing, trying to figure out what that strong odor is. He's suddenly reminded of that one time his father brought home a bottle of champagne, and how it smelled. "You smell like beer," David says, raising an eyebrow and straightening his back so he can look him in the eye.

"Ohh," Jack says, and he sounds mildly disappointed, as if he isn't supposed to smell like wine. "Well, Race brought us some beer or somethin' like that and shared it with Spot an' I…"

David folds his arms. "Racetrack can't be older than thirteen."

Jack laughs as if it's the most hilarious thing in the world, he has an arm around David's neck, and he's letting himself in, hooking his foot on the door and swinging it shut after freeing his foot so he wouldn't slam the door on it. David wonders if Jack would mind if he kissed him. "Lemme tell ya a secret," Jack says, and David tries not to grimace at how his breath smells. "Race's twenty five."

"No way," David gapes.

"Yes," Jack says, "he brought some wine and let me drink some."

"You're eighteen though." David guides him to the bathroom. Jack gives him a quizzical look as he turns the knob and lets him in. He opens the cabinet in the corner, pulls out a toothbrush, and hands it to Jack. "Brush your teeth, my parents would be upset if they smelled beer from your breath."

Jack stares at the toothbrush for a moment and David lets out a sigh and takes it from him. He turns on the tap water, wets it, and squirts out toothpaste onto the bristles. He gives it back to Jack, who begins to brush his teeth clumsily with his left hand, not even bothering to move his right arm that hung loosely around David's shoulders. When Jack's done, David fills up the cup on the sink with water and Jack gargles on water and spits it out. David remembers when he had to help a half asleep Les brush his teeth.

"Ugh," Jack wipes his mouth because he still has some toothpaste on his lips, "this is disgustin'. How d'you stand it, Dave?"

"How much did you drink?" David asks, a bit absentmindedly, because he's examining Jack's reflection. He looks mussed and incredibly handsome, with his lopsided grin, unbuttoned green collared shirt, red bandana and white undershirt. He's slicking back his hair, which David assumes is a nervous habit.

"Not much," he says. David tears his gaze away from the mirror and steers him to his bed after flicking the light off. Jack is clumsier, tripping over his own feet occasionally.

"How much is 'not much'?" Jack sits down on the bed and David sits next to him.

"Couple 'a small cups." His breath doesn't smell anymore. David can barely concentrate on much other than the steady press of Jack's knee against his and his arm around him, pressing him even closer, and Jack's minty breath.

"Too much alcohol can lead to pancreatitis," David mumbles, unable to think of anything else to say. Jack laughs heartily, his body shaking as he tries to hold it in. The grip on his shoulder becomes tighter and then his hand relaxes.

"Always got somethin' ta say…" Jack chuckles. He falls silent before saying, "Hey Dave?"

"Yeah?" David can't help but let himself lean into his touch. Jack is warm. Even though he has homework to do, but it's all from the subjects he does best in, and he doesn't want to move. Being with Jack, talking with him, touching him, is a lot better.

"I," Jack pauses, and seems to be changing his mind. "I like you."

"I know," David says, because Jack must mean the friendly like. There’s nothing really outstanding about David, why would Jack want to settle with him when he had so many other better people in the world?

"Yeah," Jack laughs, and David doesn't even know if he should do this, talking with him, when he was harboring what might feelings for him. “It’s cause you’se a smart one. Goin’ to school ‘n everythin’, you gotta future.”

“Jack,” David says it a bit too forcefully. “Jack, you’re drunk, just - just be quiet, you’re not making sense. Let’s get a glass of water, you need it.” Encouraged by the fact that Jack is staying silent, David continues to let his mouth run as he ushers him to the kitchen. “Well, I don’t exactly know how to make someone more sober, because school doesn’t teach that in health, you know, we take a break from gym and just sit in a classroom and learn about useless things. It takes up time though, so I suppose it’s somewhat useful. It’s better than changing into a uniform and being all sweaty and disgusting. But, anyways, I’ve seen my dad - er, father - drink water after drinking a couple of cups of liquor, so I just assumed - “

"You really are the walkin' mouth," Jack's slumped over, so he looks up at him in the corner of his eye. David blushes.

"You let me talk," David says defensively and gets a cup that's sitting by the sink. Jack doesn't say anything so he continues talking in a disorganized fashion. "Yeah, so I just assumed that drinking water after alcohol consumption is just a norm or something, but I guess not. But anyways, in health class, we just sit around and learn about alcohol and drugs, noncommunicable and communicable diseases - "

"What does that mean?"

"Noncommunicable means diseases you can't catch, like cancer, and communicable means diseases you can. But anyways, it's the same thing every year, and then comes the dreaded…" he pauses, the word feeling foreign to him. Despite learning about meiosis and things like that and having plenty of experience talking about it from an educational, nonchalant view, it feels strange to even mention it in front of Jack. "Sex education."

Jack raises an eyebrow, "Dave, the cup is gonna overflow." David looks down, and sure enough, the cup he was filling up with water is filled to the brim. David takes it away cautiously, and hands it to Jack to drink. "But yeah? Talk some more."

The door swings open, and Les and Sarah walk in, Sarah carrying a small bag. David quiets, choosing to lead Jack to his bed. Sarah and Les begin to chat about how Les' school day was. "In there, we learn with the girls. It isn't that interesting, really, but it's funny how they assume we're all heterosexual."

"Are you not?" Jack asks, sipping on his water.

"Um," David is rendered speechless. Is he? He's fumbling for words now. "W-Why - I mean, I guess, but maybe not - how, how would you know?"

"Lottsa questions, huh? Well, you wanna kiss any boys? Fancy anyone like tha'?"

Yes, he thinks. You. He shakes his head, nearly panicking now, so he chews on his lip in an attempt to do something - "I guess, but isn't there more?"

"Whateva, just keep on talkin' Davey." Jack waves the hand that's holding his cup sporadically, making the water inside splash around, which makes David anxious that he'll spill it. "Tell me 'bout an interestin' history thing you was learnin' in class."

"I can talk about the civil war," David watches him carefully to see his reaction, and Jack looks up at him before leaning into him even more. Taking that as a yes, David begins to talk, trying to dig up his long lost sixth grade memories. "The civil war wasn't really just about slavery, there were things like taxes and trades and things like that..."

"David?" Sarah appears, and she walks to the drawer and pulls out her embroidery. "Do you have an answer to my question from earlier?"

David glances down at Jack, who seems to be already half asleep. "No. I don't."

His father told him not to lie, but how could he be sure? It was only safe to say that he didn't like Jack in that way.

\---

Over the next few days, Jack and Sarah got closer and closer. David didn't mind too much since he was studying for exams (at least, that's what he told himself), as long as the pair was happy, he was fine. Jack came to him, occasionally, to talk, usually about Sarah or his friends. He took him out, but it's happening less and less frequently. So David just watched him, observing his behavior.

Jack tends to stick his tongue out when he's laughing (really, David finds this absolutely adorable, but not like he would ever admit it out loud). Other times, Jack would stare at something all dazed and confused with his mouth hanging open, and his tongue would lick the backside of the bottom front row of his teeth. And when he was nervous he would get this sort of shocked look on his face and his hands would practically go wild, making random gestures that made no sense as he tried to play the "Jack fears nothin'" façade. When he was waiting for something, say that David forgets to hand him a fork and spoon, he would smile at him and cock his head in front of him, but if anyone else did it, he made this "why" gesture. And his accent. David didn't really care for it at first, but it eventually grew on him. He liked some of the words he said, like "foist" and "noivus", a lot better than how they were supposed to say.

Really, David knows he couldn't like Jack more than a friend though. He knows that Sarah likes him, and his suspicions that they were seeing each other were confirmed when Sarah came up to him, wringing her hands, a nervous mess.

"David, I did something I shouldn't have," she said to him. "I kissed Jack. And, are you sure you don't like him? I need you to tell me the truth."

David forced a smile and told her, "I'm sure. As long as you're happy" and distanced himself even more from Jack for about a week. Being in love was a big risk that David doesn't want to take.

But even so, he has had this deep ache in his chest, like his heart was being squeezed, which is more prominent at seemingly random times. It's almost feels like his heart isn't completely there.

It's an odd thought, but it's what led him to now, to him sitting in front of his desk, staring blankly at his worksheet. It's extra schoolwork, but David doesn't want to be in the kitchen, where Sarah and Jack are talking. Even though he hasn't had a chance to talk to Jack for more than thirty minutes for thirteen days (David even marked the days on the calendar on his phone) and exams are over, he doesn't want to be there, hanging out with two people who obviously like each other. And they would probably want to be alone together. Someone enters the room, but David doesn't move to turn around. He isn't in the mood to talk. There's the crinkle of paper and the footsteps pause somewhere near David, but then they walk out. Once David is sure that they're gone, he stands up because his legs are getting that numb feeling that means that he has to walk around or he can't concentrate. Stretching and twisting, he stops once he spots a piece of paper on his bed.

Picking it up carefully, he unfolds it. It takes him a while to decipher the messy and smudged handwriting and the note was probably written with a blunt pencil.

"dayvid,

meat me outside of the apartmeant aftur school. sarah told me you was done with eggszams and have free time. im tacking you out to someware, but try to not let your mouth wok on the way.

jack kelly"

David stares at the paper, laughter bubbling in his throat because Jack's spelling is atrocious. "Eggszams"? David could only guess that he meant exams. He has no idea about what "wok" means, but judging by the other words and how it's used, David can assume that he meant "walk".

David smiles and slips the piece of paper into his backpack so he can look at it during the school day.

Tomorrow, he'll talk to Jack.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My motivation is suddenly back!

Chapter Five 

David couldn't think of anything else but the note at school. Being called on to answer a question was an embarrassing ordeal, he stumbled over his words in an attempt to make it seem like he was at full attention and was prepared, when in actuality, he wasn’t.

 

But here he is, out of breath because he ran all the way home, waiting at the entrance of the apartment building. His legs feel like they're on fire and his jaw is still aching from when some of his classmates had punched him. Jack arrives, and he looks surprised that David is even there. He motions for David to follow him and he obeys.

 

He wants to ask so many questions, but Jack told him to not talk on the way to the place where they can talk. So he focuses on the feeling of Jack's arm around his waist, his fingers curling at the top of his hip bone. He's missed it, the feeling of just being with Jack, all alone, but he's afraid.

 

What if he slips up? There are so many drawbacks and benefits of getting any more closer to Jack, it makes his head spin. He tries to list them all as a way to pass the time and to remind him that he just can't do anything romantic with Jack, and before he's even done, Jack stops to remove his shoes and David takes this time to set down his backpack. They’re at a dock. Jack sits down, and David sits next to him.

 

"So," David begins, a bit nervously.

 

"I'm not…I ain't with Sarah anymore." Jack looks down at the water and kicks at it with his bare feet. He’s sliding down a little bit, almost dangerously off the dock. 

 

"You…what?" David can't believe it. "What happened?" He puts his hand on Jack's knee without even thinking, and then he puts it back so he can fold his hands. He can't.

 

"I just don't like her that way, y'know? I like somebody else."

 

"Jack," David says tiredly. "If you're just going to keep on babbling on and on about your romantic conquests, just…just don't." He’s had enough and just doesn’t have the energy to pretend that he’s glad for Jack, when he’s wishing that he didn't even feel conflicted about his own feelings and had the courage to actually tell him.

 

"…Okay," Jack says. He looks sad and David regrets that he even said that.

 

"Hey," he murmurs. David places his hand on top of Jack's. He isn't sure why, but it feels right. "Your spelling. It's terrible."

 

"I ain't da best," Jack's laughing now. "You should see Race's spellin', I think you'd cry."

 

"Really?"

 

"Oh, but Spot's okay! They's perfect together." Jack's laughing again but then his face is suddenly serious. He looks down at the water and kicks at it with his bare feet. "Wait a sec, I wasn't supposed ta tell ya."

 

"They're dating?" David asks. He's hopeful because Jack doesn't seem to have a problem with two men dating. "Isn't Spot too young for Racetrack?"

 

"Maybe," Jack shrugs. "He's short an' all 'cause he didn't eat too good as a kid, but he's 'round Race's age."

 

"Why don't we go see them? It's been a while," David suggests, and Jack smiles and jumps up, spinning around haphazardly. He looks like a child when he does that, carefree and happy. It makes David's heart feel heavy and ache even more, for a reason that he doesn’t quite understand.

 

"Maybe you can teach us stuff!" Jack sounds somewhat excited, which takes David aback. He doesn't seem much like a school person, but David doesn't mind too much.

 

"I'm not that good at a lot of subjects," he says. Even though he's a straight A student, he's had some times where his grades dropped to Bs, a record low for him.

 

"Naw, you's gotta good brain. An' so what? I'm sure Race an' Spot won't mind. If they do, then I'll soak 'em," Jack holds out his arms for balance as he rocks back and forth on the deck, standing on the edge.

 

"Jack, your shoes," David reminds, slinging his backpack over his shoulder again. It's heavy and his shoulder aches a little, but he's had to deal with this since forever.

 

"Oh yeah," Jack turns around and slips them on, stomping around to get them on properly. He smiles at David and David realizes that he's staring. Face feeling hot, he looks down at the wooden boards and kicks at nothing. "Let's get goin'." His arm is around David's waist, and it's comfortable and feels right. He's never felt this comfortable with someone touching him.

 

Jack talks for a while as they cross the bridge to Brooklyn. David only nods his head and occasionally makes comments, but he's mostly silent, trying to remind himself to not give in, to not grab him and kiss him or to do anything remotely stupid. It's sort of nerve wracking because there are so many possibilities and it makes him so nervous to mess up that he’s only barely aware of his shaking legs. He doesn't realize that they've reached Spot and Racetrack until he looks up from the ground and sees Racetrack perched on top of a crate, lighting a cigarette with a match and Spot is sitting next to him with his arm around Race. They're close and don't notice them until Jack clears his throat.

 

"Bit too early to get all lovey, eh?" Jack's grinning as Racetrack's head snaps towards him and Spot scoots away from him. David can't help but smile.

 

"Whaddya want?" Spot is scowling at them.

 

"A cig," Jack laughs and holds out his hand. Racetrack flings his cigarette at him and misses, it falls on the ground and Racetrack swears loudly.

 

"'Smoking is estimated to increase the risk for coronary heart disease by two to four times'," David quotes. He feels awkward standing here, out of place, all straight laced and uptight. It’s like being himself is extremely suffocating, a hot suit that’ll eventually smother him to death.

 

"Oh yeah? And your face increases  my risk for death by a thousand," Racetrack kicks at the air. "You from Brooklyn?"

 

David ignores his earlier comment. "No. I moved here."

 

"I woulda thought so, aalll mistakes come from Brooklyn." Then Racetrack starts to laugh. "Like that baby with two heads an' Spot here." He elbows Spot and Spot tries not to laugh while he's fake punching Racetrack.

 

"Whateva happened to that baby though?" Jack inquires. His shirt is soft against David's cheek. He reaches behind Jack to touch his back and feel his suspenders. They're rough and remind him of the swivel chairs he's seen at stores. They're also grounding and helps him realize that he's being ridiculous right now. He quickly withdraws his hand and steps away from him. He can’t do this. 

 

"Spot probably ate him, 'cause he's scary," Racetrack smiles - he has crooked teeth - and slaps Spot's back. Spot doesn't look that amused.

 

"Don't worry Spot, I'm sure Racetrack still loves you," David says it nonchalantly, but the words feel unfamiliar. He doesn't ever recall a time when he made fun of his "friends", should Spot and Racetrack ever count as one. Jack laughs at that, his firm hand pushing David against him again.

 

"You - " Spot splutters. His face is turning red, a slow decent to even more embarrassment. Racetrack pulls his cap down to hide his face. Jack laughs even harder, his body shaking and David cracks a smile. "Did Jacky boy tell you 'bout that?"

 

"I would never!”

 

"Didja commere ta make fun of us?" Racetrack takes off his cap, and his cheeks are pink but it's barely noticeable.

 

"Naw, I came 'ere ta smoke, but you threw your cig at me." Jack pretends to smoke, holding air in between his fingers and pressing them against his lips.

 

"Why's the Mouth here, huh?" Spot hops off his crate to look them in the eye. He's not that flushed anymore now that it seems like David and Jack won't tease them.

 

"I needed a break," David says. "Exams have just finished." At that moment, a pretty girl with curly orange hair that's dressed nicely passes by. She smells strongly of perfume and it makes David's head feel pressure. Racetrack whistles and mumbles some appreciative comments, but he's cut off by Spot elbowing him sharply and leaning in to whisper something.

 

"Just kiss," Jack shakes his head. He hasn't said anything about the girl, which makes David feels somewhat grateful. Racetrack looks scandalized and Spot kicks aggressively at the air.

 

"Fine!" Spot snaps. Racetrack looks confused and lets out a high pitched squeak when Spot grabs him by the suspenders and forces him closer. They stay like that, faces barely apart, until Spot lets go. "Sooner or later I'm gonna have ta kick you out and send ya runnin' for Mush."

 

"Please," Jack groans. "Anyone but Mush."

 

"How'd you sleep, Jack?" Racetrack mimics someone  David doesn't know, but he assumes is 'Mush'.

 

"On me back, Mush," Spot says in a high pitched voice. It sounds so funny, David laughs.

 

"He's too happy in the mornin'," Jack complains, "And how'd you know 'bout that, huh Spot? Do I got me some spies from Brooklyn?"

 

"You ain't worth my time," Spot fires back.  Jack pretends to be shocked and offended, his lips opening to form an 'o' shape and presses his hand against his heart. David wonders if he will ever tell Jack, if Jack will die without David letting him know that he stupidly became, at the very most, infatuated with him. The thought is out of place, he should be happy and laughing along with them instead of obsessing over Jack.

 

"Ain't the Mouth a little quiet today?" Racetrack asks. He's looking through his pockets, and lets out a triumphant 'aha!' and pulls out another cigarette. He holds a match and then there’s a soft “woosh” and the smell of something burning is in the air. 

 

"Hey, hey, that's mine," Jack holds out his hand again, but Racetrack spins around to kick him halfheartedly. Jack then presses David against him again, "But yeah, what's wrong, Dave?"

 

"Nothing," he says evenly. Nothing's wrong, besides the fact that he's madly infatuated with Jack and his jaw aches a little bit.

 

"Since when didja look so beat up?" Spot jumps to sit next to Racetrack again. The air smells foul. He wonders how Spot even manages to stand being so close to Racetrack.

 

"I always look like this."

 

"Didn't know you always looked like shit. Your mother must be proud," Racetrack puts his cap back on.

 

"Your mother must be proud that you is lookin' like a five year old," Jack says casually. "Sorry, Race," he adds when Racetrack’s face is staring at him blankly. "But, Davey, what happened?"

 

"Nothing," he repeats himself. Spot rolls his eyes and nods. David's getting that choking feeling, that stifling feeling, that feeling that he has to escape. "I should…I should get home," he says lamely, hoping that they'll let him go.

 

"I'll walk ya home," Jack smiles and lets go of him. They walk to the bridge slowly.

 

“Jacky!” Spot calls. Jack turns around to face him. “Make sure ta tell ‘im eventually, yeah? You ain’t got much time!” The words are ominous and fill David with some sort of unexplainable dread. Assuming that the person that Spot is talking about is David, then Jack would be hiding something that Spot felt is urgent enough to remind Jack about. Jack just smiles and waves at him, before running off with David on his heels, struggling to keep up.

 

“What was he talking about?” David asks, and Jack makes some dismissive hand motions. 

 

“Ain’t nothin’ you gotta worry ‘bout.” 

 

“It’s obviously important enough that Spot feels the need to tell you every time you come over there,” he walks in front of Jack and turns to face him. Even though walking backwards and focusing all his attention on Jack is a recipe for disaster, he doesn’t care, not right now. 

 

“It’s nothin’, Davey. Hey, d’ya think that I’m welcome over at your home?” David stares at him intensely for a moment while clumsily putting one leg behind him, but gives up. Jack clearly doesn’t want to talk about this secret, and as much as he wants to know, past experiences tell him that pushing people too hard will lead to unwanted outbursts and heavy hearts. So he stops walking so Jack can catch up, and walks with him. 

 

_ I like you,  _ he wants to say. _ Keep on coming over even if no one else but me wants you there _ . But he can’t because there are so many drawbacks and Jack is going to die. It’s best that he doesn’t get too attached and carefully word his sentences to make sure that there is no trace of any love. “I want you there,” David states cautiously. “And, and Les wants you there too. He adores you Jack. And my parents just want me to have friends.”

 

“‘Course,” Jack says. “But y’know, don’t I drop by too much?” 

 

_ No _ , he thinks. It’s never enough. It’s like Jack is water and he’s dehydrated, desperate for water. He can’t get enough of it, and it makes him feel queasy, because there’s only so much that can go wrong because of that. “Even so, we all want you around.” Tentatively he reaches out for Jack, and then grabs onto his hand.  _ I like you _ . Jack only laughs and squeezes his hand. “Wait, did Sarah break it off, or did you?” 

 

“We both did. Sarah did it ‘cause she felt somethin’ was off an’ I did it ‘cause I like.... I like someone else now, y’know?” 

 

“Tell me...Tell me about this person,” David says.  _ Please.  _ He doesn’t know if he’s hopeful or not, if he wants to be the person Jack cherishes or just be a friend. 

 

“They’s got…” Jack glances down at him. “They’s got real pretty eyes. I like ‘em. They’re...They’re a real beauty.” He nervously laughs, David squeezes his hand in response. The descriptions don’t match up, so it can’t be him. Sure, they descriptions are vague and no gender is specified, but…  _ I want you to look at me,  _ he thinks. “Oh, oh, and they’re smart an’ bookish, but I don’t think we’re meant ta be, y’know?” 

 

“Can you give me a hint as to who they are?” His grip on Jack’s hand becomes tighter as they approach the apartment building.

 

“Blue,” Jack says simply. Blue. 

 

“Blue what?” He feels like he’s back in math, staring at the worksheet, trying to “Blue what?” He feels like he’s back in math, staring at the worksheet, trying to figure out what's important and what isn't, all while trying to find out how he's supposed to solve the problem.

 

"Blue eyes," he looks down at him and grins. David is lost.

 

"What? Have I met them before?" He tries to walk slower so they wouldn't reach the building yet. He doesn't want to go back home and watch as Jack is practically engulfed with questions and rushed away. As selfish as it sounds, David wants his undivided attention.

 

"You've known 'em for a real long time."

 

David tries to remember everyone he had met in New York and whether or not they had blue eyes. He remembers he has a blue eyed girl in almost all of his classes. Would Jack like her? "Is it a man or a woman?" He blurts out, and then reaches up to cover his mouth. He stares at the ground, feeling hot with shame. David might have ruined something, but at least he can know Jack's stance on this. There's a long pause.

 

"…Man." Jack's answer is quiet and long overdue.

 

David swallows. He doesn't recall knowing any man with blue eyes, besides himself. Which could only mean...  _ Better not get too optimistic,  _ he tells himself. "Man with blue eyes? Jack, I don't think that I know anybody who fits that criteria. Besides…besides me."

 

He turns around to face David, his hand no longer holding his. "Gee Dave," Jack laughs. It's nervous laughter, an attempt to cover up his fear. David just stands there dumbly. "For somebody who gots a brain, you ain't gettin' it. It's…"

 

"It's?" David presses. He feels like he should be getting it but he just doesn’t. 

 

"You. I like you," Jack stares at the door. David's backpack feels much heavier now. Desperate for something to do, he nervously shoved his key in the lock and turned. What does he say? 

 

"Let me…let me think about it." David tries to speak evenly, like he isn’t hopeful at all. He needs more time to think this through, to think about all the possible outcomes and if he really does like Jack in a romantic way, and not some misguided form of friendship.

 

"Okay." Jack smiles at him. "I'd wait forever."

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, the chapters will be written in Jack's point of view.

Chapter Six

David has blue eyes. It's an obvious statement, but it frustrates Jack that he can't find out the exact color. He at first thought it was sky blue, but when he looked up at the light blue sky and then back at David's, he realized that they were just two very different things. Jack supposes that maybe they're the color of a peacock. He hasn't ever seen a picture of a peacock, but he has heard that they're pretty, so he reluctantly goes along with that.

 

Then he realizes when David grips at his ankles, that they're in an odd position and he's been swinging his feet. Jack is sitting on David's bed, and David is sitting on the floor, holding a book, head in between Jack's legs, his own legs splayed out in front of him. "You okay?" Jack twists so he can look down as best as he can at David's face.

 

"I'm fine," is his short answer.

 

"Can I see your eyes?" It's a random question but he wants to see them up close. David tilts his head backwards so Jack can see his curious look. He obviously wants more clarification. "Just wanna see 'em." He smiles.

 

"Sure…" David marks his place in the book with a torn, crumpled piece of paper. Jack beams at him even though he can't see him and after carefully moving so David won't get kicked in the face by his careless movements, he settles on David's lap. It's an odd position, sure, but it feels right when he places his hands on either sides of his face and leans in close, so close that if he leans forward anymore, he's sure that he would be kissing David. It's a disturbing thought and David hasn't given him an answer, so he tries to push it away and focus on his eyes, not David's fast breathing and warm cheeks. He notices that David has freckles that splash over his cheeks and nose.

 

Jack doesn't ever recall being this fascinated by someone's eyes before. But it might have something to do with how David's eyes always catches him off guard. There are many other compelling things about David, but his eyes.

 

Blue eyes are a wonder when they're up close. At least, David's are. Around the big black circle are rays of light yellow and surrounding it is blue. Peacock blue, Jack remembers. The blue is shifting in shades and tones, all coming together to make David's eyes. It's like starlight. Jack leans forward even more, his forehead is now pressing against David's and David's breath hitches and he makes some sort of strangled noise which makes Jack laugh a little.

 

"Jaaack," David breathes out. His gaze flickers towards the window next to them and then to the opening of the bedroom. Jack feels that he should do something, something more, but he can't, because David still hasn't answered him. It's been ten days, and it's been a pain to try to seem like he doesn't care what David says about his lousy confession.

 

"Yeah?" He asks.

 

"Y-You're heavy," he puts his hands on Jack's chest and lightly pushes. It's like a flea had tried to push him, but he rocks backwards, making it seem like David had pushed him fairly hard.

 

"Dave d'ya gotta answer? Just outta curiosity." Jack still doesn't move, but he adjusts his position so he has his legs on both sides of David and shifts his weight onto his feet.

 

"Now isn't the right time." He looks at the entrance of the door. "Anyone could walk in."

 

Jack laughs. When he had told Sarah about what he might feel about David, she promised that she would try and get them alone whenever they were at their home. "Don't worry 'bout it. You's the walkin' mouth, so just let your mouth run."

 

"I don't…I don't know," David looks and sounds frustrated. Jack moves his hands on his shoulders and squeezes, hoping that it comes across as comforting.

 

"Think aloud," he says.

 

David looks at him reluctantly but begins to talk. Jack's shoulders relax a little bit. "I think I like you. But I don't…it's so difficult, there's so much that can go wrong. You're going to die and I don't know if I can get close or not when you…you won't be there anymore. And my parents, I don't even know if they approve of…of…" David seems to not be able to find words, so he gestures towards the two of them.

 

"Listen," Jack says. He isn't sure where to put his hands now, and as a result, his hands wander, refusing to stay in one place. He wonders if this kind of touching is reserved for couples. "If I'm gonna…well, not be here anymore, then don't it mean that we's best enjoy our time together?"

 

Jack doesn't know what to do, if he should kiss David, if David is even okay with the idea of kissing. If he should ask him if they could be something more than friends. Realizing that his wandering hands must be a sign of nervousness, he moves them up and cups David’s face. "I can get me an empty apartment," Jack says quietly. David's cheeks are warm and much softer than he imagined. "Tomorrow. We can hang 'round there and sort this out…Sounds good?"

 

"Sounds good." David smiles at him. He has a nice smile.

 

"Tomorrow," his voice sounds too soft, so he clears his throat. "Tomorrow. At seven, I'll commere, okay?"

 

"Why don't you stay the night?" David's hands are on his wrists now, his thumbs stroking his veins. Jack considers it instead of outright saying no. It's tempting to be in this cramped apartment, to be with people who care about his wellbeing and treat him as a normal person. Even if the Jacob’s family doesn’t know the truth from all the lies Jack has told, it gives him comfort that he can pretend that he’s just a normal human being and is part of this family.

 

"Sure," he smiles. David awkwardly cranes his neck forward and then there's the soft pressing of his lips against Jack's jaw. He doesn't pull away completely. Jack swallows hard, waiting for more. "Daave."

 

Nothing. Jack opens his mouth to speak again but then David pulls away, grinning. There's so much intimacy going on, David's hands on his wrists tracing his veins and Jack sitting on his lap and just before, David's lips on his jaw. "So what should we do tomorrow?"

 

"Couple-y things?" Jack glances at the doorway again. “An’ talk?”

 

"Like this?" David asks. Jack looks back down at his hands and then up at his face. It’s just right.

 

"Yeah," he says. "Just like this."

 

\---

 

After Jack is finally alert and David is fully dressed, the signs of morning aren’t creeping across the room. This is the earliest he’s ever been up in a while, after being unable to work, he’s been able to sleep in and wake up whenever he wants. Jack suppresses the urge to yawn as he loops his arm around David's waist. "Let's go."

 

"Hold on," David glances around the empty kitchen before slipping out of Jack's grasp and kneeling in front of what seems to be his backpack. He pulls out a paper and pencil. "I need to write a note."

 

"Ah," Jack says. It's semi unnerving to be in the apartment when it's so poorly lit and no one is up. Usually Les is here, doing his homework, or Sarah, helping Les. "My friend's apartment is on the sixth floor.”

 

“Your friend’s?” David echos. If Jack could see his face better, Jack is sure that he would have his eyebrows arched and his mouth quirked in the way that it always does when he’s curious.

 

“Um,” Jack realizes that he was spending too much time staring at David’s silhouette and hadn’t even answered the question. “Yeah, my friend’s.” He searches for a suitable way to improve the actual truth.

 

“That doesn’t answer my question, Jack.” David takes a step closer to him.

 

“Y’see, my place is real crowded. I live with Spot an’ Race.” Jack tells himself that it’s fine to tell David this, because it isn’t too far from the truth. He’s just improving it a little.

 

“Ah,” David says. Then his hands are clutching his, and Jack stumbles uncertainly through the darkness, his free hand groping for the doorknob. Once his hand does find it, he twists it. “Listen, Jack…”

 

“Yeah?” They’ve both stepped out into the gloomy looking hallways, poorly lit. Jack has to squint to make out the outlines of objects to avoid crashing into them. He navigates his way to the stairs and is about to start climbing them, but David stops moving. He turns around to face his figure. They’re in a fairly dimly lit area now, no longer under an overhead light. “Davey?”

 

David makes a noise similar to “ah”, but it’s much more high pitched and quieter than normal. “N-Nothing,” he nervously laughs. His grip on Jack’s hands are tighter, and Jack wrenches one of his hands free and hesitantly feels around to find David’s face. His hand clumsily touches air several times but then it hits David’s cheek, so he rests it there, running his fingers across his cheekbone. His skin isn’t completely smooth, there are a couple of bumps and rough patches, but it’s David. It feels unnervingly right. Decades earlier, this would have been illegal. Decades earlier, if anyone had seen them do this, they probably would be thrown in jail. The thought makes Jack’s heart squeeze because he’s reminded of Racetrack and Spot, why they couldn’t go on…

 

“We…” David pauses. He must be searching for the right words, but Jack is sure that anything he said would have sounded right and clear. “We should talk in the apartment. Not out here.”

 

“‘Course,” he says, and then lets go of his face. "I'll race ya ta the sixth floor!" He takes off, his feet practically thundering up the stairs. David runs after him, protesting a little, but mostly laughing. 

 

David is flushed and out of breath and moves languidly when he reaches the sixth floor. Jack, on the other hand, is barely short on breath. He supposes that it's because he spends a lot of his time running from things, both mentally and physically. Jack laughs at David, laughs at his flushed cheeks and tired posture. "Don't run too much?"

 

"Shut up," he huffs. David stands there, leaning against the wall, for a couple of more minutes, and eventually pushes himself towards Jack. "Not everyone's skilled on their feet."

 

Jack grins and puts his arm around David’s waist, pushing him closer. He has some sort of need to have David close. Sometimes these moments where they're practically pressed up against each other aren't enough. It doesn't make much sense, but Jack just accepts it. It's not like he can really change his desires. He walks towards the center of the hallway and stops in front of the right door to get out his keys and unlock it.

 

"So where's your friend?" David asks. Jack wonders if he should retract his arm or keep it there. Unlocking a door with his left hand is a task that Jack isn't accustomed to.

 

"Business trip," Jack says. "Said I could come over whenever I wanted an' handed me them extra keys." He manages to unlock the door so he kicks it open. Annabel's apartment is neat and there's no trace of any mess. Her curtains are drawn wide open, revealing the faintly lit parking lot and light blue sky with traces of orange. Jack closes the door behind them and engulfs them in darkness, but there's still a faint light coming from the window. Jack doesn't know where to go, if they should talk in the kitchen or go to her bed. It's an embarrassing thought, but Jack really does consider it. Would David want to be standing or lying down?

 

David seemed to have read his mind or something, because he slipped out of his touch without Jack even realizing it and is now leaning against the kitchen counter. Jack is reminded of Esther whenever she asks if he's doing okay. She always takes that position to face him, as if she wants to search for any sign of lying.

 

"So," David says. Jack trains his eye on his barely visible face. "Tell me about yourself."

 

"You already know lots," Jack takes a step closer. He tries to think of an acceptable lie, something that wouldn't cause too much trouble when he tells David the truth. "Gimme somethin' ta talk about."

 

"Your family." David seems to have his eyes trained on him too. It makes the back of his neck prickle.

 

"Uh," Jack realizes that he hates talking about this area in his life. It's an innocent question but it makes Jack's stomach twist as he recalls some unfavorable memories. "My folks really love each other. They's out at Santa Fe, New Mexico, trynna make a livin'."

 

It's lame and Jack knows it. "Mhmm," David hums. Jack is reminded of Esther whenever Jack says something that couldn't be true. It's funny how Esther and David are alike in little ways. "Why don't you go to school?"

 

"No point," Jack shrugs. He's comfortable now, this is something he's talked about several times and he always recites the same thing. "College is expensive and me folks already knew that I wouldn't live too long, so they homeschooled me for a while an' then they just up and left when I was old enough ta work."

 

"But you don't work."

 

"Ah..." Jack winces. "They knows that so they send me some money so I can survive."

 

"That doesn't make much sense," David clicks his tongue. "But okay."

 

Jack feels like he should maybe to something, but he isn't sure what. "Got anymore questions?"

 

"Yeah. Out of everybody, why did you think it was a good idea to love me? Er," David tilts his head up. "Like. Sorry."

 

"Whaddya mean?"

 

"I mean," David sounds somewhat frustrated. "There are so many people who are better than me in a lot of aspects of life, so why me?"

 

"Why would I have 'em if I could have you?" Jack wonders if now is the right time to kiss David. If there even is a right time. But he knows that David wouldn’t like it, he would tell him that he needs time to think.

 

"That's the part that I don't get." David crosses his arms. "What is so great about me? What do you even like about me?"

 

Jack takes several steps forward. He's just ten steps away from David now. He tries to think about what he likes about David, and there's a lot to choose from. "It's 'cause you's real?" It comes out as a question and Jack wishes that he had David's brilliant brain and could spit out any word he wanted and still, it would make sense.

 

"Of course I'm real." David's smiling now. The sun's glowing brighter so now he can make out David's amused expression better. "You are too."

 

"Nah," Jack takes three steps closer. Seven more steps and he would be right in front of David. "I mean, you hate lyin' so you never tell lies. You're hardworking an' you ain't like me, stealin' and, uh, lying. A lot. You also have a mouth that likes to run a lot." Jack keeps on stepping forward, walking faster and faster with less pauses, until he's right in front of David.

 

David isn't saying anything so he attempts to fill the silence with meaningless words. "So, uh. Yeah." Jack reaches forward and lets his fingers curl around David's arms.

 

"I…I think that the word you're looking for is genuine."

 

"Whaddya like about me?" It seems like the right thing to do, to flung this question at him in a more casual manner. Jack hopes that he doesn't say the genuine, because Jack isn't. He's a liar and can't stop, he lets his wild stories go on and on until he's staring at the broken pieces because he's been found out.

 

"Everybody likes you." Jack wonders, a bit bitterly, if he'd still like him if Jack told him the whole truth. Even though the truth isn't that bad, David dislikes lying, and the truth is somewhat farfetched. "You're charismatic - "

 

"What does that mean?" Jack interrupts. His hands squeeze his arm and then relax. He takes a small step forward, and now they're only half an inch apart.

 

"It means that you're charming." The sky is light blue mixed with purple, and a seemingly heavenly glow is settling across the room.

 

"Ah." He smiles and lets go of one of his arms to move his hand up to his hair, sliding his hand awkwardly across the back of his head, fingers skimming across his neck. David's hand moves to his back, and settles at the small of his back, and his other hand reaching up to rest on Jack's shoulder. Jack feels that maybe he should do something with his free hand, so he places it on David's cheek, his thumb moving to stroke his skin. He doesn't know what else to do, so he stands there, back bent, waiting for David to do something. He wonders if he’s even ready. He can’t force this upon him. 

 

David reaches up and presses his lips near his chin. Jack doesn't ever recall a time when his heart beat this fast and this loud. Even though it's a silly thought, he wonders if David can hear his heartbeat. Then there's another firm press, this time a little bit up north, and then David lifts his lips and then seems like he's going to kiss Jack, but bumps foreheads with him. They both pause to let out a breath of laughter before David rises and their lips meet.

 

\---

 

Although cooking is something Jack generally dislikes, he finds that he likes making food with David, but it might have something to do with the fact that many quick kisses were shared while Jack prepares the soup and David bakes the bread and spreads butter over it, and it gave Jack this glowing feeling in his chest, like someone had put the sun in his chest. Setting down the pot filled with soup, Jack glances up and grins at David, who's watching him while spinning the dull butter knife in between his fingers. He's already set out the bowls and spoons, and is just watching him. Jack doesn't mind.

 

"Who taught you to cook that?"

 

"Sarah," Jack answers as he hops on top of a stool. David does the same after tossing the butter knife into the sink.

 

"Speaking of Sarah…" Jack looks up while he's pouring soup into his bowl, only to look back down and swear when he realizes that he spilled some soup. David just smiles and shakes his head, and then hands him a napkin. "Sarah said that you took her out on dates, but they were all rather...peculiar."

 

"Oh." Jack gets a sinking feeling and hopes that David isn't too curious about it.

 

"Yeah. She said that if you bought her a present, you would make her get it herself and just watch her." David bites into a slice of bread. Jack waits, a sense of doom coming upon him. "Yes, and she said that sometimes you would be very loud, and no one would notice or care. You refuse to talk to certain people, if Sarah tried talking to them, you would just go silent. Why?"

 

Jack desperately shoves several spoonfuls of soup into his mouth, attempting to delay his answer. He didn't think that Sarah would notice that, let alone tell David. Once he swallows, he’s come up with a suitable lie. “Um, I’m a little nervous ‘round them new folks. An’ everybody knows me, they know how loud I can get.”

 

David clicks his tongue again and Jack gulps down the rest of his soup so he can have an excuse to not talk. “So,” David says. Jack is relieved that it seems like he’s willing to change the subject. “What should we do now?”

 

“Couple-y things?” He quotes himself and outstretches his hand to lightly touch his square and neatly cut fingernails. “Get ta know each other?”

 

“Ah.” Jack watches as David’s eyes soften and his posture becomes a little looser. Jack likes him when he’s like this, with his guard down and he seems more comfortable, which is something Jack would give up his daily scavenged scraps to see more often. “What’s your favorite memory?”

 

Jack tries to think of any memory that he remotely likes, only to find that the clutter of memories is filled with David. Jack almost laughs aloud, David has changed his life in a mere month or so. He slumps down in his seat and stares up at the ceiling, trying to think of something, but all he can think about is David. He smiles weakly at David, who’s watching him with his lips quirked in that way that could only mean that he’s curious, and eventually says, “One time…” He trails off when he realizes that he has no idea where this story is going.

 

“Yes?” David’s almost laughing now, and Jack has to smile too, because his laugh is ridiculous, even if it comes out in little squeaks and tremors.

 

“I got nothin'," Jack says plainly. He adds, "Cause me brain's filled with you."

 

"Me…me too," David hooks his legs around Jack's. Jack was planning to take the dishes and wash them, but he doesn't want to leave this little kitchen table. He's too comfortable.

 

"I love you," Jack murmurs, looking over the tabletop to see David's reaction. A few days ago he was terrified of saying these words, opting to reduce his feelings to a simple ‘I like you’. He spent many nights huddled in an alleyway next to Spot and Racetrack, worried that if he might say ‘I love you’ to David, it might create some sort of deep connection and make his supposed passing more painful. But now he doesn’t care. He wants to be free, to be himself, that was the reason why he couldn’t move on.

 

David hasn't said anything, and Jack's lips curve at the thought that he just rendered the Walking Mouth speechless. He peers at him, and David stares at him with this sort of blank expression. "I," David says. He directs his gaze towards the tabletop. "I don't want you to die."

 

Jack isn't expecting this answer. He sits up and says, "listen. I'm gonna die, but that don't mean you isn't gonna live no more."

 

"Aren't," David comments idly. Jack waits, and then he opens his mouth to speak. "Jack, you've become so ingrained into my life. I don't think…I don't think I can get used to the idea of you just not being here. I won't have something to look forward to after school. I won't have someone to do this with." He looks up and meets Jack's eyes, and then laughs sadly.

 

Jack swallows. His eyes are pricking, and that's a bad sign. Jack Kelly doesn't cry. "Well, you just gotta find somebody else who can help ya with that."

 

"But what if I don't?"

 

"Then…then you just keep livin' and hoping. Life's not gonna end when you loose somebody. Life only ends when you give up, yeah?" Jack doesn't know where this sudden rush of philosophical thoughts came from, but it sounds right, like he knows what he's talking about.

 

"I love you." Jack blinks. "I love you, I think. But I'm so scared of what's going to happen when - " David chokes, "when…when you..."

 

Jack feels his throat constrict. He didn't realize that David would be this afraid of what comes after. His moment of happiness and reflectiveness didn't include the fact that David would be left behind.

 

"I mean, we haven't spent that much time before, but I don't think I've ever been this terrified about losing somebody." Jack grabs David's idle hand. He wants to comfort him. He just wants to go and leave New York, but he doesn't want to leave behind David or his friends. He wanted a lot of things when he had time, and now… "I mean, I would rather be mute and unable to write and read than deal with you being dead."

 

"That says a lot," Jack says. He isn’t sure if he should laugh or not. "Walkin' Mouth."

 

"I know, I just…" David takes in a few deep breaths. "I can't believe I got this attached when I knew that you're going to die." Jack thinks he's nearing hysteria, he hears the nervous laughter bubbling in his throat.

 

"I love you and it makes me sick because I don't think I can see you go away when I'm going to so devastated. You're going to literally die, but I'm going to  _ emotionally _ die." David is just staring at the table with an empty expression as he continues to talk.  This is foreign territory to Jack. Spot and Racetrack never talked about it, and Jack usually refuses to even mention it to his normal friends. "I wish you didn't have to die."

 

If Jack Kelly did cry, he's sure he would be tearing up right now. Instead he stares at David, his fingers tapping on his skin. "When I go…do you want to be there?"

 

"Yes," David smiles half heartedly. "Of course. I want to be with you till the last second, no matter how painful it'll be."

 

"David," he says. This atmosphere is stifling, like the outdoors when it's boiling hot and humid. "Let's go wash them dishes. And then…well, we can lie in me friend's bed an' just do couple things there. Sound good?"

 

"Sounds good." David untangles his legs from Jack's and stands up. Jack lets out a sigh and does the same, gathering the dishes. As David comes by, he grabs his arm to stop him and then leans in to kiss his cheek.

 

"We can talk more later," he says quietly. David nods, and then softly hums to himself as he gathers the leftovers that Jack didn't get. Jack turns on the faucet, makes the water boiling hot, and then dips a plate in there, trying not to grimace from the water hitting his cold skin. Trying to distract himself, he goes on autopilot as he thinks about what he'll do during his last days on Earth. Of course, he has to spend time with Les, Sarah, Esther, Mayer, Racetrack, and Spot, but he has to spend time with David too. He wants to.

 

"You should wear gloves," David says, and Jack realizes that he's beside him, kneeling down and pulling open a cabinet. Jack pulls his hands outside of the water and watches as David pulls out rubber yellow gloves and hands them to him. Jack fixes his gaze on them, not really understanding what to do for a moment, before slipping them on and continuing to scrub the pot. Then David has his arms around Jack and his head is resting on his shoulder. Jack doesn't think that he's ever been this comfortable around someone he's spewed so many lies at. He tries to push that out of his mind. He'll tell him later.

 

Jack dumps the pot onto the counter, turns off the faucet, and takes off his gloves before spinning around to face David. His hands feel strange, all rubbery and moist, but he puts them on the space above David's hips and smiles at him. He's glad that they have this sort of easy casualness, he doesn't feel as if he's about to step on a land mine every time he puts a hand on him. He wishes that he could do this, day after day, but he can’t. Maybe if he tries hard enough, deprives himself of happiness, he'll live longer…it's a ridiculous thought and Jack knows that his time is almost up anyways.

 

Jack glances up at the clock on the wall. It's a Mickey Mouse clock, very unlike Annabel, but Jack likes it and every time he comes over he pokes fun at her clock. But this time he's with David, who loves him, and it reads 9:00. “Wanna lie in bed together?” The words escape his mouth before he realizes that it could be interpreted in the wrong way, and David looks down at the floor. Jack can see that the tips of his ears are red. “I mean, just lie there. You must be tired, yeah? I’ll make sure ta get ya home before it’s dinnertime.”

 

“Y-Yeah.” David steps away from Jack and then he guides him to Annabel’s bedroom. Jack flicks the light off, he’s rather fond of the dim lighting. To make things more comfortable for him, he twists his arms behind his back, unclips his suspenders and uncrosses them. Then he unclasps the suspenders on the front and shoulders it off to the ground.  “What’s the owner of the apartment like?” David asks. He’s sitting on the bed, swinging his legs back and forth, like a little kid.

 

“She’s real nice,” Jack says. He sits next to him and leans against him, clutching his hand, uncertain if he should pull back the covers so they can lie in bed together. “Her name's Annabel by the way. I call 'er Bell. 'Cause she sounds a lot like a bell, y'know, those ones who ring when someone opens a door ta a shop."

 

"B-e-l-l?" David asks. "Not B-e-l-l-e?"

 

"I thinks she thinks that it's the second." Jack grins. "'fore I die, I'm gonna tell her that I was sayin' Bell, not Belle."

 

David goes silent and the fact that David doesn't like that topic finally registers in his brain. "Sorry," Jack says.

 

"It's fine." David squeezes his hand. "Are you tired?"

 

"Well, sorta. Are you?"

 

"Yeah. We should take a nap." Jack stands up so David can pull away the covers, and then gets in first.

 

"So," he says quietly. "Wanna talk 'bout anything else?"

 

"I can't think of anything."

 

"'S okay. 'Cause Bell's ain't gonna be here for a while. She's got some family business ta take care of." Jack peers at him in the darkness. There are no windows nearby so no soft light is drifting through the room. “Y’know, she got a family, but she ain’t too happy with ‘em.”

 

"Jack…" Jack can barely make out David's closed eyes. "Did I ever tell you you're the best thing that's ever happened to me?"

 

Jack looks away. He can't. The idea of him going away, leaving David is almost unbearable. It makes the area right under his sternum hurt, almost dangerously close to his heart. “Me too.”

 

\---

 

Jack isn't quite sure what he's doing, but he's stumbling up the stairs. His mind feels numb. If Jack Kelly did cry, Jack would be crying right now. Instead he has his face scrunched up and is sucking in deep breaths while thinking over and over, 'David'. He didn't even bother to tell Racetrack and Spot, who were right next to him but they were asleep, and instead hurried across the bridge to David's, walking like he's in a drunken stupor.

 

Jack reaches the second floor and then  leans against the railing, trying to steady his breath. His mind is spinning, on a loop, his thoughts going around and around. David.

 

The thought of his face makes Jack's knees buckle and a few unsteady breaths escape his mouth in uneasy shudders. David has the right to know, he tells himself firmly and walks to David's door. That choking feeling overwhelms him for a moment, and Jack shudders again as he raises his hand to knock.

 

"Jack?" Sarah opens the door. Jack tries to smooth his features.

 

"I-I need…David," he stammers out, trying to move past her. She stops him.

 

"Jack, is everything alright? It's two am."

 

He stares up at her, feeling another wave of nausea wash over him before he shakes his head.

 

"I'll go get him," she says quietly. She has what seems like a sad expression, Jack isn't sure, his mind just feels numb and human expressions feel alien.

 

A few minutes later, David is here, half asleep. A high pitched noise escapes Jack, and he immediately buries his face in the crook of his neck.

 

"Jack?" David whispers. It takes him a little bit to figure out that he's saying his name. Jack is barely aware of his hand is on his back, moving back and forth across the expanse. "Jack, what's wrong?"

 

Several more gasps. He's trembling now, and Jack tightens his grip on David's clothes. He isn't sure when he got his hands on there, but he just feels so far away and like he's going to float away, right to the ceiling.

 

"Shh," David consoles. It just makes Jack feel worse. "Jack, do you want to go inside?"

 

"N-No," he hears himself say. More gasps. He feels unsteady on his feet and David seems steady, and it's like he's a tree swaying in the wind and David is his roots.

 

"What happened?" Jack chokes, struggling to keep in his gasps. David has to know. He has to know. He has to he has to he has to he has to he has to he has to he has to he has to -

 

"David," he mumbles. "I'm…I'm gonna die. In ten days."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nearing the end...I'm actually going to cut this story a little bit short, a couple of chapters shorter, actually. But there will be a somewhat satisfactory ending!

Chapter Seven

Jack's favorite moments with David are not, in fact, those breathless moments when they kiss, nor are those moments where David and Jack are close and their hands are everywhere and grabbing his favorite. Instead it's the moments where David and him are just close, with gentle hands holding onto his clothes and David's face is pressed against his shirt. Even though this moment makes his heart ache because he knows it'll be over all too soon, Jack is relishing this moment, like he would with food back when he was starving and young. Last night, when he told David, David made him stay the night and when they went to bed, David had pressed his face against his shirt and cried, body shaking hard and sucking in deep breaths, crying in such a heartbreaking way that Jack never knew was possible. He wouldn't be able to experience this soft moment if he didn't stay the night, to see the soft light drifting in through the window, to hear David's soft breathing, feel his hands lightly gripping on his arms and see how normal mornings can be in the Jacobs’ household. He’s more used to waking up, sweaty and anxious, smelling the bitter smell of smoke and seeing Racetrack staring off into the distance, eyes glassy and cigarette between his fingers, while Spot is gone.

 

"Mornin'," Jack says, fingers skimming over the back of David’s hair, trying to be quiet because Les is in bed with them too and Sarah is just across the room.

 

"Good morning." David suppresses a yawn when he pulls away from Jack's shirt. His eyes are sort of bloodshot, which makes Jack feel a prick of guilt. . Jack grins at him, he likes him this way, all rumpled and untidy, curly hair falling haphazardly onto his forehead and shirt collar riding down to expose his collar bones. David is beautiful. It's amusing, a while ago he would've thought beautiful could only be applied to girls who were extraordinarily pretty, with soft features and long hair and nice dresses, girls that were unattainable, but now, looking at David, he knows that he was wrong.

 

Unable to resist temptation, Jack moves himself down the bed and once he's in front of David, he presses a sloppy kiss on his throat, acutely aware of Les shifting behind him. "Jack," Jack looks up at him and David's cheeks are pink. "We need to at least brush our teeth before we do this."

 

Jack doesn't move for a moment, but clean and minty breath is tempting and getting up before anyone is awake and feeling that atmosphere from earlier is even more tempting. "Fine," he says, and David smiles at him as he heaves himself up. Jack sighs, glancing down at the bed longingly, and sits up. David begins to get out of bed, but Jack immediately moves so one leg is blocking him.

 

"Wait." David's mouth quirks and Jack slips an arm around him, pushing him closer to press a careless kiss on his mouth. Jack also likes these moments, when kisses linger, when David's eyes slowly open and blink at him, when his lips part slightly as Jack pulls away a little. "You okay?" He asks, intertwining his fingers with David's.

 

He seems dazed, but after a few more blinks, he says, "I'm fine."

 

"You sure?" Although David doesn't lie, Jack just wants to be sure. "'Cause last night…"

 

David looks down, down at their hands. "…No."

 

He's shaking now. Jack can feel his shoulders quiver under his arm, and he doesn't know what to do, so he just squeezed his hand in a way that he hopes comes off as reassuring. He's never done this before in a long time, Spot never cries and stares at the face of tragedy with a stony face and rigid posture, while Racetrack bites back tears with laughter and jokes, drowning himself in cigarettes and careless gambling. "Davey?" He inquires when David's shoulders stop shaking and his breathing is quick but not labored. "C'mon. Let's go brush our teeth an' eat somethin'."

 

“Okay.” David lets go of a breath Jack didn't know he was holding. "Okay." David doesn't let go of his hand when he stands up and gets out of bed. Jack lets himself get dragged to the bathroom.

 

Brushing his teeth while standing to the left of David is a bit awkward, because David’s elbow is jabbing his own, and David is making the best “I’m-really-sorry-about-this” face while his gaze is trained on Jack’s reflection. Jack just smiles toothily, frothy toothpaste almost spilling from the corners of his mouth, but he closes his mouth fast enough and bends over to spit it out into the sink. David is making choked noises that Jack hopes is laughter, but he can’t tell because he’s gurgling and spitting and wiping his mouth. David does the same, and Jack isn’t sure where to put this toothbrush. He isn’t sure that he deserves to put his toothbrush with the rest of theirs, he’s not biologically related to them.

 

“D’ya feel better?” He asks when they’re both done brushing their teeth. David’s peacock blue eyes look startled when he’s taking the toothbrush from him and Jack smiles at him, really smiles.

 

“Yeah. Are...are you?” David’s tone is cautious, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. Jack thinks that David underestimates his mouth and brain, he’s spoken so many words that all sound right and make sense, whereas Jack grasps for words when confronted and makes so many blunders in his less than perfect speech. He watches as David puts the toothbrush in the cup that holds all the other ones.

 

“I got ya by me side, so I’m good!” He beams at him, and David gets that relaxed look again, his eyes have an unrestrained look in his eyes and the corner of his lips lift up a little.

 

“You hungry?” David asks, flicking the light shut and Jack steps out.

 

“What time is it?” There’s no clock hanging up on the walls for some reason, so David has to go to the table beside his bed to check. When he comes back, Jack is at the kitchen table, fingers tapping against the solid wood, not sure if he’s close enough to the family to open their refrigerator and look inside.

 

“Six,” David says. “It’s so bright outside, I thought it was eight.”

 

Jack whistles. It is bright outside, and Jack didn't consider that it was six in the morning.

 

“Hey,” David murmurs, placing his left hand on Jack’s wrist. Jack gets a tingly feeling in his chest.

 

Jack glances back at the lifeless bedroom. Nobody’s awake, so he shifts his weight onto his right foot and sticks out his left to lean over to brush his lips against his jaw. David lets out a high pitched “huh” sound.  Somehow, even though it make his chest tingle pleasantly, his heart feels weighed down.

 

\---

 

“So,” Jack says, putting all his weight on his elbow as he leans against the counter and crosses his legs. They’ve already eaten and washed their dishes. “Whaddya wanna do?” He folds his hands, they’re moist but don't have that strange, rubbery feeling that rubber gloves give him.

 

“Whatever you want.” David makes the water colder and pumps soap out of the soap bottle three times. He rubs his hands together before washing his hands. Jack doesn't say anything. "Hey, Jack…I've been thinking I want to tell my family."

 

He tries not to think of all the negative, past associations with men being with men, but the images of the cops and handcuffs and beatings makes him shudder. He tries not to think about Racetrack, about the bruises on his neck and cigarettes littering the ground, almost like grass on earth, all of them smoked by Racetrack. "If you is wantin' it, I want it too."

 

Jack watches as the back of David’s head shakes slightly. "I want to, but it's risky. I just...I just want to show affection and not worry about anyone looking.” He can see David’s gaze drifting towards the entrance of his parents’ room. 

 

“Les is a little angel,” Jack says, trying to offer support. “I is sure he ain’t gonna be too resistant.”

 

“He adores you, too. Whenever I come home without you, he’s always asking me to go and ask you to stay the night.” David looks over his shoulder and smiles. Jack laughs.

 

He considers saying something about the future, but it’s a touchy topic so he lets it slide. “Whatta cute kid. Your parents are what we should worry ‘bout, though, ‘cause, I mean, I’d be stealin’ ‘way their cute kid.”

 

David turns around and mimics Jack’s position, a smile on his face. “You mean Les?”

 

Jack snorts, and decides not to comment about that. “D’you wanna do anythin’ today? Got anything in mind?” 

 

“Talk?” David offers.

 

“Ah,” Jack says. “Da walkin’ mouth strikes again. Well, whaddya wanna talk ‘bout, Mouth?”

 

He’s almost afraid when David doesn’t answer. He’s afraid that maybe David really saw through him and knew that he was lying the whole time, spouting out these half truths and and just let him go on and on to see if he would eventually break down in front of him. Jack swallows hard, clenching his hands.

 

"I just…" David bites his lip and brushes his curly hair back, but it falls right back in place. Maybe he’s not the only nervous one, but Jack cannot fathom why David is nervous. "Wanna talk. About what we are. And other things.”

 

There's a hint of desperation in his voice.  "Well," Jack begins. He isn’t sure how he’s supposed to answer David’s questions when he doesn’t even know the answer himself.  "We was never meant ta be, fo' sure. And then…we just be. Gives ya a little rebellious feelin' doesn't it?"

 

David half-smiles. "What are you, Prince Hamlet?"

 

Jack has no idea who that is, but grins anyways, because David seems to like this Prince Hamlet person. "Yeah! I ain't Jack Kelly, I'mma prince."

 

"And then I would be Ophelia?" David's smile is wider now.

 

"Yeah, yeah, sure. But…has this..." he gestures towards them, because he isn’t quite sure how to put their relationship into words. Dating isn’t a sufficient word to sum up all these feelings that Jack has for David, all these memories that clogs up his brain and makes it hard to think. Maybe that’s what love is, the littlest of memories have been so overblown and dramaticized it seems like life before the person you met them was just an empty void, dull, and everything you notice about them, from which words they pronounce with an accent to what color their eyes are is also overblown, and there’s so much excitement going on from little moments it makes you want to be with them more and more, craving for closure. "...made ya a little happier?"

 

"No," David says. Jack's stomach plummets. David must've seen the crestfallen look on his face because he hastily adds, "Jack, it hasn’t made me a little happy, because I've been happier than I've been since…a very long time." Nervous laughter. Jack notices that David is only three steps away, and his eyes are nervously darting back and forth, from his parents’ bedroom entrance to Jack’s face.

 

“Not being happy around you is impossible,” David adds, voice uncertain and fingers tugging at each other.

 

Jack sincerely hopes that he would still be happy around him when he smashes the already broken fragments he's constructed from stolen excerpts from books and stories and called a lie own life. "I'm glad," he says. "'Cause I feel da same."

 

"I'm just…" David takes in a deep breath. "I'm just scared about what might happen in ten days. What comes after."

 

His pulse quickens and David is silent, breathing from his mouth. Jack can see his slightly open and close and his chest moving after each breath. "Hey, hey," he steps forward and rests his hand on the crook of David's elbow, trying to remember how to properly comfort someone. "Easy there. You ain't gonna stop livin' when I'm gone, y'hear me? Take good care of yourself, 'cause you deserve it. Deal?"

 

David looks at him blankly. "Jack, you aren't giving me anything in return."

 

"Well, I'm givin' you my love. C'mon, let's shake." David shakes his head, but he takes it as resignation, so Jack spits into his hand without even thinking about it and then holds it out. David looks up at him and spits into his hand, much to Jack's surprise, and they shake hands. Jack's hand lingers there, before letting go.

 

"Don't act so surprised," David says calmly, blue eyes staring right at his own eyes.  "We swap spit all the time." His eyes smile as he laughs, and Jack laughs too, laughs at what David said, at his reddening cheeks, at the absurdity of this situation, a hardworking, honest boy joking about kissing with a lying, cheating, stealing, good for nothing boy.

 

"Well, wanna swap spit again?" Jack leans down, barely aware of what he’s doing, but he knows that this will distract him from his thoughts. Even though David is the one with the brains, Jack’s mind has no anchor now that he knows that he has to tell David the truth soon, so it wanders freely whenever it wishes.

 

"I love you, so sure." David looks up at him, all coy and trust and happy. Jack nervously glances at the bedroom. He can't see it too well, so he wonders if Sarah can see them, if Les is awake and watching them. Jack pushes that thought out of his mind and then leans down to kiss him.

 

It's a quick chaste kiss, just like the others, and it ends all too soon, but Jack doesn't mind too much. When he pulls away, he doesn't go back to their positions before. Instead he rests his forehead on David's and puts one of his hands on his cheek. "D'you wanna talk more?"

 

David blinks. "Y-Yeah. Jack, are you scared?"

 

The question catches him off guard. "I ain't scared of nothin'," he says without thinking. David purses his lips and jabs at his chest.

 

"What I mean is, are you scared about dying?"

 

"I'm scared about what might happen to you," Jack says matter of factly. He's sick of this conversation, sick of how it makes his chest ache and an overwhelming sense of dread wash over him and then draw back. "But we shook an' you don't go back on your word so I ain't too worried now…"

 

David goes silent for a while. "Okay, Jack. Do you know what we should do today? I don’t know what i want to do, besides staying with you, of course, but besides that, I don’t have anything I want to do. Maybe we should do something with Les, Les has been kind of down lately, if I think about it. Or Sarah, since she’s been really kind to you. Maybe we could play cards.”

 

David continues to ramble on at a rapid pace and Jack gives up on making sense of the almost incomprehensible words that are spilling out of his mouth. But standing here, with one foot forward and his hand resting on his cheek and the other in the crook of his elbow and his forehead pressed against David's while David's bright eyes are blinking quickly and his mouth is moving is too much, and Jack isn't quite sure what he's talking about now. So Jack tilts his head and gives him a firm kiss, effectively shutting him up during and after the kiss.

 

"What - " David begins, but his eyes flick downwards and a little to the left to the floor. He's quiet now, hands clasped and fingers tugging at each other, mouth set in a line. Jack uncertainly steps backwards, his hand on David's cheek drifting downwards to his waist and then letting go. “Jack, can you stay the night?”

 

Jack considers his options: sleep in an alleyway with Spot and Racetrack and wake up from nightmares, or sleep on David and Les’ lumpy and small bed, with people that he can almost call family, and not have any. He doesn’t want to bother David or anybody in here, but the idea of sharing a bed with David instead of sleeping on the cold hard ground is tempting. He also doesn’t want David to cling to him like that again, his body convulsing and small gasps and to feel the warm and wet tears on his clothes, soaking through and touching his skin like a static shock, because knowing that he had caused David to cry makes Jack feel incredibly guilty. “Lemme think about it.”

 

David is disappointed, and Jack knows it. He can tell by the way that his lips curl inwards and he can see the hint of his teeth biting at the flesh. But David’s fingers reach forward to seize his hand, his fingertips skimming over his palm and lightly tugging at the base of his fingers, mimicking Jack when they had first said their farewells. “Sometimes…” David lets out a sigh. Jack glances at the entrances to both bedrooms, wondering if anyone is watching them. “Never mind. I’ll be back, Jack. Shower.”

 

\---

 

Jack made himself comfortable on the edge of David’s bed while David showered, glancing backwards at Les every few minutes. The bathroom door unlocks, creaking loudly, the noise making Jack wince. David emerges from the bathroom, hair wet and glistening, rubbing his hair with a towel, clothes damp.

 

Jack concludes that he’s been crying, his eyes are a bit swollen and there are red blotches on his cheeks, and another wave of guilt courses through him. “Don’t think so much,” Jack tells him. David’s body goes rigid for a moment, before forcing himself to relax and smile at him. His eyes are still dark and his eyebrows don’t come down from it’s slightly raised position, so Jack can tell that he’s still deep in thought. “You okay?”

 

David hesitates before answering, the side of his mouth slightly upturning because he’s chewing on the corner of his bottom lip. “...Not...not really.” Jack guesses that he might have made some sort of facial expression that clearly said his concern, since David quickly adds, “no, I haven’t been crying.” 

 

Jack fixes his gaze on Sarah’s sleeping form across the room, and suddenly he doesn’t care if he might be sharing an intimate moment with Les and Sarah, so he stands up, and the next moment, Jack buries his face in the crook of David’s neck while his arms are around him, holding him tight. He smells like the bar of soap that Annabel keeps in her bathroom, fresh and like home, an unnamable fragrance.

 

“I love you,” he whispers, almost wanting to shout. He wants to be unrestrained, free, able to do whatever he wants without fear. It’s a fire inside his heart, the thing that kept him going, that kept him here for so long. He vaguely remembers reading about Santa Fe, about cowboys, southern gentlemen, brave and dashing and oh so far away, and it seemed like a good life, so he gave his dream a name, a location. His old bandana was a dream woven in cotton, but it wasn’t enough, it didn’t replace Santa Fe. It was like a tiny breath of air when he was drowning. Jack would have given up his life in New York for life in Santa Fe in a heartbeat, because he knew nobody there, he could start a new life and there would be no expectations for him. But now, with David, even though the layer of lies are still there, separating him from David like a thick, solid wall, he feels that he can tell David anything, without being laughed at and not being taken seriously because he’s just a child, because he’s young and careless and surely doesn’t know the hardships of life. David is family, stability, something to hold onto when the world around him is falling apart, all of Jack’s dreams concentrated into one person and made even better than life in Santa Fe and, well, anywhere. 

 

But David is more than just all his dreams thrust into one person, more than family and stability. David is brilliant, he goes to school and learns things that Jack has been dreaming to learn but is sure that he knows that he would never be able to actually understand. David is honest and hardworking, while Jack resorts to lying and cheating all too often. David’s sentences are smooth and structured, while Jack fumbles for words and his sentences are a grammatical mess. David is everything that Jack can’t be but wants to be. And yet, he isn’t jealous of him at all. 

 

Jack can feel David’s hands on his back, him swaying back and forth, his voice a low murmur. He can't decipher any of the words he’s saying, but he’s comforted by the occasional, sharp sound of David’s mouth forming an s and then the rest of the word fading away. Jack steps away, arms slowly drifting back towards his sides, and says, “you’s tired?”

 

“Little bit.” He gives Jack a tired smile, the bags under his eyes a bit more prominent. Maybe now is the right time. Jack has to go back to Brooklyn to talk to Spot and Racetrack. He has nine more days, which should be enough time for David to comprehend the truth and get over his disappointment. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, Jack tells himself that he’s probably overreacting. He must be blowing the situation out of proportion, David wouldn’t  _ hate  _ him, he’s far too rational to do such a thing. 

 

“Dave, before...before anythin’,” he says, staring down at the floor, clenching his hands and willing his pulse to slow down. “After this, I’m gonna have ta go back to Brooklyn ta tell Spot an’ Race. Alright?” 

 

“Alright.” 

  
“Davey,” he looks up from the floor and into David’s eyes.  _ Come on. _ “I haven’t been honest wit’ ya.” 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!

Chapter Eight

David’s mouth sets itself in a firm line. Jack swallows hard, waiting for his inevitable doom, waiting for David to say something, to shout at him. But he doesn’t, and Jack finds that the silence is even more unbearable. “I’m not going to yell at you, Jack,” David says softly, walking past him to sit down on the bed. Jack sits down next to him, leans into him too. It’s easier this way, he doesn’t have to make eye contact.

 

David’s hand clutches Jack’s hand like it’s the only thing he can hold onto. “I ain’t…” he pauses. “I ain’t normal.”

 

“I know that,” David says. Jack feels frustrated and clenches his free hand, trying to appear normal and relaxed.

 

“No, I mean, I ain’t…” he searches for the best way to say this. “I ain’t…"

 

"Jack, if you aren't comfortable saying it, then you don't have to yet." David squeezes his hand.

 

"It's real important though." His pulse doesn't go back to normal; instead it's beating harder and louder, there's a constant drumming in his ears, and he's reminded of the term "death march". His palms feel sweaty, and Jack just wishes that he could just -

 

David's lips brush against his jaw, and Jack forgets what he was thinking about. "I'll wait," he says softly. "Just make sure you tell me before you…you know."

 

Jack's heart clenches, but it's because of a different reason. "'Course," he beams at him and puts an arm around David, resting his head on his shoulder.

 

"So are you going to go to Brooklyn?"

 

As much as Jack doesn't want to, he has to. He has to tell Spot and Racetrack and plan accordingly. He's dreading the idea of them scolding him for not telling David the truth, of them acting normal, as if they weren't hiding things from each other. "Yeah," he tells him. "I gotta, 'cause Spot…well, he don't want me wanderin' 'round too much. An' I sorta disappeared las' night…"

 

"Is this Spot," David says slowly. "Is he dangerous or something? Some sort of dictator?"

 

Jack laughs, because the Spot is just a scrawny boy who's a good five inches shorter than him who tries to act tough. However, unlike Racetrack, he grew taller in the six years that Jack was separated from them. "Nah," he says, swinging his legs back and forth. "I could soak 'im if I wanted to."

 

A while ago, Jack would've gotten mercilessly beaten up to the point of near death if he had only so much set a menacing hand on Spot (or Racetrack, but Spot always denied that fact). But now, Spot isn't some leader of a bunch of run down boys. He's just a young man, waiting for the end with Racetrack and Jack.

 

"Soak?"

 

Jack forgot that he and David were from different backgrounds. "Beat up," he says, shifting uncomfortably, the bedsheets rustling faintly under him.

 

"Now," Jack looks up and smiles when he sees David's disapproving face. He's clicking his tongue again. "Why would you do that?"

 

"'Cause," he shrugs. "Sometimes he ain't too good ofa person, y'know?"

 

"Oh," David says, the tip of his finger tracing the lines on his palm. "Are you going to go now?"

 

Jack is almost too comfortable, but he can't be out for too long, or Spot will be in a bad mood, and Racetrack will be too. He's already tried to escape, run away from both of them, a desperate attempt to try and live on his own without the smell of cigarettes and blood following him around, to maybe find some of the people he had lost. Needless to say, Racetrack and Spot weren't happy at all. "Yeah." He sighs, slips his arm out of it's position on David's shoulder, and stands up, ready to walk to the door by himself.

 

"Wait," David's hand is now on his shoulder. "Jack, let me walk you to the door." He glances back at him, back at his blue eyes and barely dripping hair. His stomach twists because he wishes that David at least lived with him back then, as things would be so much easier. Even though they would have to be much more careful about those little kisses and lingering touches, Jack could buy them a private place to do whatever they wish.

 

"Sure," he smiles, and David smiles too. His smile is nice. They silently walk to the door, where David rests his elbow on the doorframe while his left arm hangs limply on his side.

 

"Can you come back and stay the night?" David asks again, with those pleading eyes and a small frown. Jack can’t say no to him now, no matter how vague he tries to be.

 

"Y-Yeah," he says. "I'll tell ya at that time."

 

"Wait," David tells him, and walks away, back inside the apartment, glancing back at him every few minutes, as if if he didn't keep an eye on Jack, Jack would just up and disappear. He comes back and places his apartment keys on his palm, his hand moving to make Jack's fingers curl around it.

 

"I…" Jack stares down at the keys, unsure as to what to say.

 

"Just let yourself in," David says, his voice steady. "If I'm already asleep, sleep with me. No sleeping on the floor, okay? And if you're hungry, get something from the fridge. I'll make you something. Promise?"

 

"Promise."

 

This time David is the one to initiate the deal making ritual, spitting into his hand and holding it out to shake. Jack laughs and shakes his hand, his hand lingering there, not quite ready to let go.

 

"I'll be back," he says, and leans forward to kiss him, soft and slow.

 

\---

 

"Well look who's back," Racetrack is perched on a crate, smiling when Jack comes towards him. It isn't one of those fake smiles, it's real, and much more nicer than his smile that masks all other emotions. Something good must have happened.

 

"What'd I miss?" He asks, hopping onto the crate beside Racetrack, spreading his legs out and towards the sea.

 

"Where've you been?" Racetrack affectionately slings an arm around him, arm hanging loosely around his shoulders, like he doesn't have a care in the world.

 

"At Davey's." Racetrack rolls his eyes.

 

"'A 'course. You tell him?"

 

"Nah," Jack says. He pauses, waiting for Racetrack's input, but it doesn't come. "I's gonna tell him when I head back."

 

"Mhmm," he hums. "Good. Dat ain't healthy, y'know, keepin' secrets."

 

Jack laughs at the irony of this situation. "Says the one who's in love and ain't willin' ta talk."

 

Racetrack doesn't even snap at him. Instead, he swats at his face and laughs. "Whaddya mean?"

 

Caught off guard, Jack freezes. "You told 'im?"

 

"Nah," Racetrack's laughter fades away. "I'm just inna good mood today."

 

"Mm, sure." Jack imitates David when he knows that he's lying and makes a faint clicking noise with his tongue.

 

"I really didn't," he sighs and stretches like a little kid, bending his back backwards and holding his arms out, twisting his torso. "I think I'm okay with how it's goin' now."

 

"No way." Jack sneaks a glance at his unbuttoned collar. No fresh marks. "What's goin' on? You two reach some sorta realization when I was gone?"

 

"He…" Racetrack shrugs, looking down at the cement below them with a wide smile. "He told me."

 

"Didja says somethin'?" Jack demands. Spot has finally shed his outer layers, showing the vulnerable person inside to Racetrack, but Racetrack hasn't done the same. And Jack, despite wanting the best for them, doesn't want Racetrack to tell him, to utter three simple words. For all he knew, it might cut their time short, and the idea of Racetrack, heartbroken, is something Jack doesn’t want to imagine.

 

"Nah," Racetrack states out at the sea, his gaze distant. "Sorta scared 'bout what's gonna happen. Told him, 'lemme think about it'."

 

"Hey, Race?" He asks. His question is one that he's asked so many times, but each time is different as Racetrack and Spot begin to understand why they're still here. "Whaddya want from life?"

 

"Freedom," Racetrack replies. "Freedom and warmth. And…and Spot. What d'you want?"

 

His answer has changed. A few years ago, it was simply 'love'. "I wanna be free," Jack finds it funny how similar his dreams are to Racetrack's. "I wanna have a family and be, y'know, normal."

 

"Lost cause," Racetrack comments, and Jack's stomach lurches. Now is the perfect time to tell him.

 

A few seconds of tense silence past. "I-I'm not gonna be here in nine days," Jack blurts out, heart pounding, fingers nervously twisting the frayed ends of his bandanna.

 

"What?" Jack doesn't have to look at Racetrack to know that his body stiffened. "Whaddya mean, you's gonna run 'way?"

 

"No," Jack says, now painfully aware of how his hands were shaking. He's scared. Scared of how Racetrack will react. "I mean go away, go away."

 

Silence. Jack isn't sure what he's going to do. "So," Racetrack says quietly. "You met all the requirements?"

 

"Yeah." Jack's voice comes out too loud and harsh, so he quiets down. "Yeah."

 

Racetrack's eyes follow a woman walking down the pier. He doesn't bother taking off his cap; the woman wouldn't see him anyways. "You make sure you spend one day with us."

 

"I will," Jack says. Desperately wanting to change the subject, he adds, "so, have you seen 'em? Y'know, Crutchie an' Blink, the whole crew."

 

"Nah." He sighs, and Jack does too. They've been keeping an eye out for their old friends for a while, but with no results. Jack was only lucky when he managed to find Racetrack and Spot again. "Hey, wanna cigarette?"

 

"I'm trynna ease off a them," he smiles awkwardly.

 

"I know, I know, 'cause you don't wanna be a bad example for Les, an' Dave won't kiss you, blah blah," Racetrack rolls his eyes. "Just one ain't gonna hurt if you's gonna stay here for a couple o' hours."

 

Jack thinks about it, and a few minutes later, he holds out his hand, and Racetrack fishes out a cigarette and a lighter. "How d'ya get these?" Jack asks as he watches Racetrack light it.

 

"Friends," he says simply. "I bribe 'em, tell 'em I'm gonna cook for them if they gimme a pack."

 

"Cook?" Racetrack doesn't strike Jack as the cooking type.

 

"My old job," he tells him, and it makes sense. Racetrack most likely got kicked out, despite his young face and lacking stature. "Here."

 

He hands Jack a cigarette and lights his own. Jack inhales some smoke and puffs them out, the tension in his muscles relaxing.

 

"Dave notice anythin' strange today?" Jack absently watches the smoke waft out, the wisps curling in the air as he tries to recollect all his memories of David.

 

"Nah," he says. "He didn't say nothin' 'bout my missin' stubble."

 

"He might think that you's one of them boys who don't needa shave everyday."

 

Jack shrugs. "Ain't likely. But I'm gonna tell him later today. How d'ya think I should word this?"

 

Racetrack pitches his voice higher to the point of it being squeaky. "Hey, uh, Davey - "

 

Racetrack's laughter drowns out the rest of his words, but Jack doesn't mind. He laughs along with him. He laughs and laughs, until Spot appears in his field of vision.

 

"What's - " Spot begins to say, but he just sighs and shakes his head.

 

"Oh," Racetrack squeaks out, and Jack snickers as his cheeks redden and he looks down at the cement, down at his legs nervously kicking at the air. "I-I mean, how's it goin', Spot?"

 

Racetrack puts his cigarette to his lips and inhales deeply. Jack just smiles at Spot's far too happy face, which he covers up with a neutral expression.

 

"Good," he says, and then there’s a goofy smile, the one that’s always directed at Racetrack. Sometimes seeing that smile makes Jack wonder how David looks at _him_ , if he looks at David like he’s the world, if he gazes at David like he’s a work of art. Then the smile drops when Spot looks over at Jack. “So, where’ve you been?”

 

“Davey’s,” he tells him. “Sorry that I left in the middle of the night, it’s ‘cause I had one of those...one of them dreams.”

 

Spot nods knowingly. Jack is particularly prone to these nightmares, and at first, they were blurred, faint, far away. As he moved closer and closer to his deadline, it started coming into focus. And as time went on, so did the dreams. They began to change. “Any changes?” Spot asks, sitting down on the cement next to Racetrack, even though Jack is closer to him.

 

“Whenever I’m with Dave, I just dream ‘bout him, so none that I know of,” Jack says. “And, Spot?”

 

“What?”

 

“I…” His throat constricts. “I ain’t gonna be here in nine days. Deadline was moved closer.”

 

Suddenly, Racetrack stands up and spins around to face them, then takes a few clumsy steps backwards. “Well, then, we just gotta celebrate! Make use of the time you got left, yeah?”

 

“Jack, make sure to spend your second ta last day with us,” Spot says. “I’ll make sure ta get us some liqour, some nice food, maybe some balloons…”

 

“And I’ll…I’ll cook the food,” Racetrack grins, and Jack can’t help but laugh. “I’ll get ya some flowers, so you can give ‘em ta Dave. What sorta flowers you want, huh?”

 

“I don’t think you can find none a them flowers here,” Jack motions around him. New York is a city, not a garden.

 

“Whaddya mean? Imma steal ‘em,” he says, taking back his seat on the crate next to Jack and Spot.

 

“What d’you want from life, Jack?” Spot asks, steel blue eyes practically boring holes into him. Jack shifts in his seat. “I’ll give ‘em to ya.”

 

“Freedom,” Jack says, smiling easily. “My friends, good food, a home, family, and David.”

 

Even though he can’t have everything, Jack is content with how things are now. Nothing could be better than this life. He’ll miss everybody.

 

\---

 

Jack raises his hand to knock on the door of David’s apartment, before remembering he has the keys. He’s already rehearsed how he would go through this in his mind so there would be no blunders, no mistakes, and no confusion. Unlocking the door, Jack quietly steps inside, looking around. The Jacobs aren’t having dinner, of course, it’s most likely well past ten. His eyes sweep across the room one more time and settles on David, who’s walking out of the bedroom and towards him.

 

“Hey!” Jack smiles, and David smiles too, but he puts up one finger to his lips to say ‘shh’. David looks behind him, and then he steps right in front of him, fingers buttoning up his collar and he furrows his eyebrows.

 

“You drank again?” David whispers. “And smoked?”

 

“Ah…” Jack isn’t sure what to say. “Gotta little carried away, y’know.”

 

David sighs, but he doesn’t reprimand him. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

 

“Can we talk outside?” Jack doesn’t want anyone else overhearing their conversation, just in case David goes into hysterics. Even though what they’re about to discuss isn’t that bad, David is such a logical person that Jack admitting this might make him go into a state of disbelief.

 

“Yeah,” David opens the door behind Jack before Jack even moves.

 

Once they’re outside, he tries to remember what comes next, tries to remember what to say. “Um,” he says uncertainly. “Listen, Dave. What I’m gonna tell you is true.”

 

“Alright?” David raises an eyebrow as he leans against his apartment door, his arms folded.

 

“I ain’t…” Jack takes a deep breath. “I ain’t human.”

 

“ _What_?” It’s the response that Jack has been expecting, but it still catches him off guard. David’s eyes are wide and his shoulders are tensed.

 

“I mean, I’m not alive,” his words are rushing out now, his plan forgotten. “I’m a ghost, or somethin’, whatever you want to call it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier ‘cause I was, y’know, worried, you didn't seem like you coulda - “

 

“Wait a second,” David interrupts. “Let me get this straight. You’re not alive. You’re a ghost.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack moistens his lips, expecting David to keep on talking. It should make sense. His outdated clothes, his avoidance to talking with strangers, his slip up at the first dinner he had with David's family...

 

“But that’s…” David looks at loss for words, surprising for the walking mouth. “That’s impossible.” Jack bitterly remembers his first awakening since he died. A terrifying realization that nobody could see him, that nobody could hear him. People, shaking his lifeless body and shouting, somebody crying… Eventually, Jack had wandered back to the Lodging House and sat in the middle of the room, staring down at his hands, wondering why he was still here, that it was impossible, he couldn’t be _dead_ and still be here.

 

“I know,” Jack says. “But, y’know, the impossible happens. I’m dead, and I’s been dead for almost a hundred years.” David just stands there. A few minutes of silence passes, and David opens his mouth to speak.

 

“A hundred years,” he echoes. “What were you? A...A newsboy?”

 

Jack looks down at his clothes, his suspenders and white collar, all old and rumpled. “Yeah. Selled a hundred a day, yellin’ headlines an’ makin’ up my own. You know, we went on strike ‘cause they was raisin’ prises, but...we didn’t win.”

 

“Unfortunate,” David says blankly, and then, “Jack, how can I be sure you’re telling the truth? That you aren't delusional?”

  
“Take my word for it,” Jack smiles, even though there isn’t anything to smile at, besides David. “On my last day, I’ll go, an’ you won’t forget it.”


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

This was it. Jack’s last day. He had already prepared himself in advance, making sure to tie up any loose ends and clear up any confusion between him and David, to sit him down and tell him the whole, full truth. Including the fact that he sleeps in an alleyway, that yes, he could scream and shout and do anything that he wanted without anyone caring. When David asked why everyone in his family and himself could see him and not see any difference from him and a human, Jack shrugged and told him that maybe there was something special about their family, something unseen. 

 

It’s eight o’clock, according to Racetrack’s golden pocket watch. Jack impatiently taps his foot as he waits in front of David’s door, trying not to clench the flowers in his hands too hard. They had agreed to meet up at eight and spend the rest of the day at Annabel’s. David had even asked his parents for permission, claiming that Jack wanted to take him on a tour around the city. 

 

The door opens, and David appears, looking like he’s just woken up. “Alright,” David nervously smiles, and Jack does too, looping his arm around his waist. 

 

“How you feelin’?” Jack asks, leading him down the hallway to the stairs. 

 

“Good,” David says as he walks up the stairs. His eyes are trained ahead of me, but occasionally drift to Jack’s face or down, down to the flowers in Jack’s hands. “What are those for?” 

 

“You,” Jack grins, “y’know, Race told me he would get me whatever I wanted, so I asked for flowers. Here!” He stops walking to give David the flowers in a flourish. They’re pretty wildflowers, colors varying but meshing together like a sunset on a nice summer day. Jack doesn’t know  _ how  _ Racetrack manages to find these things, but he does. 

 

David uncertainly takes them and smiles. “T-Thanks, they’re beautiful. So, Jack, can you tell me about...life before this?”

 

“Tough?” Jack shrugs, unsure how to describe it, how to describe life on the streets without glorifying it or sounding harsh. “But, y’know, the newsies, we all look out for each other.”

  
“So they were like your family,” David says slowly, as if he were still trying to process it all. 

 

“Sorta.” The newsies were like Jack’s family, but it wasn’t enough, like how a sip of water for a man dying from thirst isn’t enough. “Hey, Dave, what was life like before I met you?”    
  


“Very different,” David’s eyes crinkle at the corner, and smiling like this, David looks like a little boy, very different from the unsmiling stranger that he had first met. Then his face smooths out, into something a little more than far away. “It was nice, but not nice enough.” He pauses, and quickly adds, 

 

“It wasn’t  _ terrible,  _ there was just not much quality.” 

 

His hand reaches down to cling to the hand hanging off of his waist. There’s a few minutes of easy silence as David and Jack walk up the stairs and to Annabel’s apartment. “Davey?” Jack asks abruptly when they reach her apartment, when he takes out the keys and tries to unlock the door with just his right hand. His question might not make much sense to David right now, but he’ll understand soon enough. 

 

“Hmm?” He hums, taking the keys right out of Jack’s hand and unlocking the door himself.

 

“What do you want in life?” David’s hand freezes on the doorknob. It’s only for a few seconds, and David quickly tries to recover from his stumble. 

 

David answers his question with another question after opening the door and walking in front of him to place the flowers in a cup filled with water. Jack watches him busy himself with the task. "Are you trying to be philosophical?" 

 

"Nah, just curious 'cause it relates to you," Jack winks at him even though he can't see him and closes the entrance behind him. "I's interested in everythin' to do with ya." 

 

David's back is no longer facing him, and within seconds, David is right in front of him, palm cupping Jack's elbows and looking down. Jack isn't sure what to do with his hands so he grips on David's arms. "Well," he begins, voice faltering. "I want you." 

 

"That ain't good," Jack says softly. He only has today, only has up until around two pm to spend time with David. He only has a couple of hours to make things right, to help David understand. "Gimme another name, some words."

 

"I want someone like you," he repeats. Jack frowns. 

 

"Well, whaddya want besides me?"

 

David flashes a lopsided grin. He looks handsome when he does that, and it makes Jack wonder if he's ever gone on dates or had a girl. David is too wonderful for Jack to be his first. "No idea," he says, smile settling down on his features, not quite as noticeable but it softens his face. 

 

"Well, think about it." Jack leans down and presses a mild kiss on his cheek. Even though he'll cause David all sorts of problems, Jack is glad that he met David. He can at least prevent someone from making the same mistakes as him, living a life as someone else, desperately dreaming of a future, but unable to reach out and grab it. “Hold on.” 

 

David lets go of his elbows as Jack reaches into the pocket in his pants to pull out Racetrack’s golden watch. 9:20. Time is going by too fast. “How much time?” David asks, and Jack realizes that his eyes have been staring at the watch with glazed over eyes. 

 

Jack mentally counts from nine to fourteen. “Six hours.” There’s an odd pause, awkward and it lasts for far too long. David looks a little lost, a little dazed, his eyes flickering around the room. 

 

“Jack, let’s eat something simple,” David says after a shorter pause. Jack nods silently in reply and follows his retreating figure.

 

\---

 

After they’re done cooking, he grips David’s arm to lead him towards the bedroom and says, “C’mon.” To him, bedrooms are the place of comfort, where he is allowed to dream and rest. 

 

He plops down on the bed after flicking on the light, and eventually David does too, sitting right in front of him and letting his legs wrap around Jack’s hips. “How come you never told me you were a...a ghost earlier?” 

 

“Wanted ta be normal,” Jack says truthfully. No more lies are allowed here, not today. David’s eyes glint dangerously. 

 

“So,” he says, his tone a little cold. Jack realizes how he’s become accustomed to David’s warmness, how he hasn’t truly seen him cold and angry and unhappy. It’s a pleasure that he doesn’t think about much. “You’ve been using me? My family and I?” 

 

“No!” His tongue darts out to moisten his lips nervously and he leans forward to places his hands on David’s thighs, looking up to scan David’s face to locate any distrust. “I mean, I’ve acted this way with plenty a other people, so don’t feel  _ too  _ bad. If it makes ya feel better, I ain’t goin’ ‘round tellin’ people these things. And I thinks you wouldn’t’ve believed me.”

 

David nods, seemingly accepting that explanation. “Sorry, Jack.” He scoots closer to him, and now their faces are only a couple of inches apart. David tilts his head and moves his head closer, and closer, so Jack moves his own face closer too to see if this is what David intends to do and - 

 

David’s kisses are more lips than chin or tongue, something that Jack isn’t necessarily used to. He’s more used to the clumsy, awkward, grabby hands and forceful, hard, violent, unfavorable kisses, but Jack supposes that maybe he’s been dating all the wrong people. When they both pull away, David’s ears are red and Jack wonders if his cheeks are giving off that soft glow of pink. He  _ does  _ feel warm, anyways. 

 

“What time is it?” David asks suddenly, and Jack has a sinking feeling in his stomach. Maybe time went by too fast and it’s twelve. Jack takes out Racetrack’s golden watch and peers at the clock. 

 

“Ten,” he says, almost mournfully. Four more hours, and he’ll be gone. Forever. What will he miss? Will David fall in love again and maybe get married? Will he have children? For some reason, Jack doesn’t mind that idea; if David is happy, then he’s content, no matter the situation or sacrifices. He drops the watch on the bed sheets.

 

David’s legs that are wrapped around Jack’s hips tighten their grip, the inside of his thighs now grinding against Jack’s bones. “Jack,” he says, voice hushed. “Are you scared?”

 

“Nah,” he pretends to laugh, unwilling to let this act drop. Jack Kelly doesn’t get scared. Only the small, powerless child locked inside of him does. David tuts at him, and Jack reminds himself that there are no more secrets. Not today.

 

“Okay,” he admits, “I kinda am.” 

 

\---

 

1:38. Not even half an hour left. Jack and David had chatted the whole time up until now, Jack revealing things he normally wouldn’t have told a soul, and David supplying information about himself and random tidbits about fascinating things he learned at school. This easygoing sense of happiness was intoxicating; that is, until he glanced down at the watch that he was playing around with. Now, he’s standing in front of the window nearby Annabel’s bed, drawing the curtains back to gaze out at the sky, trying to hide his thudding heartbeat and shaky hands. The sky is bright, and the sun is shining almost too cheerfully. Jack turns away from the window, the scene outside doesn’t match his mood at all. 

 

“Anything else to tell me, Jack?” David asks, tone almost morbid. Jack fights his rising panic as he begins to think about how David will feel after this, opening up the door for a flood of questions. What will happen? How will Les react? What will he miss? Will Spot and Racetrack get their happy ending? Will David find someone new? 

 

Shaking his head, Jack stumbles towards David, nearly tripping over his feet. “Yeah,” he manages to get out. He doesn’t sit down. Instead he stands there, in front of David.  “Davey, can you..can you return this watch to Racetrack?” He thrusts the watch into David’s hands, not waiting for an answer. Nervously, he unties his bandanna. He deserves to have something to remember Jack. 

 

“And,” he gets down on his knees to tie it around his neck, careful not to tie it too hard, “just..I dunno if everythin’ related ta me is gonna go, but if it ain’t, then wear this. Please. And give this to Les.” He takes the cowboy hat out from it’s usual position around his neck to hand it to David, who looks almost bewildered. 

 

“What am I supposed to say to my parents when I come back?” He smiles half heartedly. “Jack mysteriously died and I searched his body for stuff to take?” 

 

He chuckles. “Nah, tell ‘em I hadda heart attack an’ then handed you a bunch a stuff while I could, sayin’ random things that don’t make no sense.”

 

David nods solemnly, and then… “Jack…” he says, almost fearfully. “You...you’re…” Mystified, Jack looks down at his hands before realizing that he’s transparent now, that he’s fading away. The top half of his legs are almost gone, but he can still feel his feet, it just doesn’t...appear in his field of vision.  _ Oh _ . Jack doesn’t feel afraid anymore. There’s no use in fighting this. 

 

Getting up onto the bed again, Jack sits in front of David, taking in deep breaths as he tries to make himself comfortable. “Okay,” he hears himself say. Time must be going by quickly. Blinking spots appear in his vision, falling down and down… Jack’s reminded of when he was dying. What does he want his next last words to be? Does he want it to be full of instructions, or full of love? 

 

He can hear David sniffling, but it sounds so far away, like he’s in a different room and listening to him. “I love you,” David says, choking on his words. “Jack, I love you.” 

 

His vision is full of flashing spots, so he closes his eyes, and it’s like he’s transported to another world. There’s white pinpricks of light winking at him brilliantly, and they look like stars, far away and breath taking. Calm washes over him. He’ll be okay. David will be okay. Laughing now, he feels around for David’s hands and holds on tightly to what’s left of the external world. His sense of touch is slipping away from him now, but it doesn’t matter. David is still with him. 

 

Jack’s grip on his quickly dwindling sense of reality is like a tug of war, and Jack is loosing. It doesn’t matter. He’s done what he could. Now, one last message for David. One last message for the world. 

 

“I love you, Davey,” he breathes out, not even sure if David can hear him, if he’s even speaking.  _ Dave’s gonna be okay.  _ There’s nothing left to do and nothing to hold onto. He’s alone now. Even the star filled sky is enveloping him, leaving him with nothing but blinding whiteness. 

 

And so, he lets go. 

  
  


**_many years later_ **

"Your bandana." Jack jumps, not expecting the person behind him to talk when he's packing up and getting ready to go. He turns around to face the speaker, the stranger with curly dark brown hair that reminds him of the chestnut brown bookshelves at libraries and his light blue collared shirt brings out his eyes. Jack thinks his name is Davis, he vaguely remembers the teacher calling out names several days ago, a first day of school custom that Jack despises. He doesn't like his real first name, it's stuffy and boring and old timey.

 

"What 'bout it?" He asks, hand reaching up to touch the space where his bandana is supposed to be. He somehow lost it a couple of days ago and hasn't found it since, although he suspects that it's in his dorm room. He keeps his eyes trained on Davis, and finds that he doesn't mind looking at him. He looks oddly familiar, like Jack has interacted with him before, long, long ago.

 

Davis looks a little caught off guard, as if he hadn’t expected Jack to actually look at him. “O-Oh,” he says, and then pulls out a familiar red cloth from his pocket. “Here,” he says, holding it out. “I found it.”

 

Jack’s eyes widen and then his hands are all over Davis’ hands and the familiar stretchy and soft texture of the cloth. Jack’s mouth is moving, but he isn’t even sure what he’s saying at this point and he exhales in relief as he brings it up to his neck to tie it around there, savoring the cotton texture.

 

He doesn't want to garner Davis' sympathy, to tell him how much he treasures that red bandana, to tell him about the dreams woven in cotton and how he's diligently kept it clean for the past - what, twelve? - years.

 

"Lemme treat you out to dinner," Jack smiles widely, feeling ready to jump up and down and hug Davis. Davis deserves this, he found his bandanna, he’s familiar, he’s nice, what’s better than this?

 

"Your name," Davis says, blue eyes wide. "It's Fra - "

 

"Jack," he cuts him off, not wanting to hear his actual name. "Call me Jack."

 

Davis raises an eyebrow. "Okay, Jack…my name is David."

 

Jack’s smile falters, and he shoulders his backpack and glances around to make sure he didn't forget anything. "Right, Dave. Let's go!"

 

He flashes a grin, grabs his wrist, and bounds out of the classroom. He has this odd, jittery feeling in his stomach, the kind that rattles your bones and makes you bounce up and down, radiating down to the core with some sort of nervousness that is neither good nor bad. Jack likes that stimulation, that feeling of his heart pounding for no good reason, the tingling in his stomach. He slows down once they're out of the building, but doesn't let go of David's wrist, instead letting his fingers stroke the bone protruding to the side of his wrist, craving more. It's all very pleasant and somehow, familiar.

 

David sucks in a few deep breaths before adjusting his backpack straps. "So," he says, a bit awkwardly, blinking down at their point of contact. Jack realizes that this must be strange for him, for a stranger to grip his wrist for a longer time than necessary, so he lets go and jams his hands in his pockets. "Um, where do you want to eat?"

 

"We can hang 'round that old cafe somewhere nearby…" He looks up and smiles. David smiles too, he smiles one of those smiles that makes you look a lot younger. "My pal, Tonio, he told me 'bout it and said the food was good."

 

"What do they serve there?" David inquires. He reaches up and brushes back some of his curls, but falls back into place.

 

"Soup," Jack says, “and bread?” 

 

David pauses, thinking about it. “Sounds good.” 

 

\---

 

During the whole dinner, this odd feeling, this feeling that maybe he's seen David before, is overwhelming. He's felt it with Sean and Antonio, but it was just a small, nagging thought in the back of his mind. "Hey, d'ya feel that?" Jack abruptly asks when they walk out of the small building, out into the harsh sunlight and bright sky. 

 

"Feel what?" David's blue eyes are watching him like a cat, making it hard to think properly.

 

"That…" Jack struggles to find the right words, so he gestures in an attempt to fill in the space where his words are supposed to be. "That feelin' that we've met before."

 

Jack doesn't want to tell him about the faint fluttery feeling in his chest that’s present whenever he notices David sneaking glances at him and during the casual touches, because David could take it the wrong way and think that he's infatuated with him. Jack really isn't, at least, he wouldn't mind if he did like him in that way, because David is nice. 

 

"That's impossible," David isn't looking at him now, instead opting to look down at his hands. "But…"

 

"But?"

 

"I…" David hesitates. "I do. I do feel that too."

 

"Huh," Jack says, suddenly relieved. He isn't the only one having this strange deja vu feeling. "Wonder why."

 

"Yeah," David looks back up at him and smiles. His smile is pretty. "Maybe we did meet before."

 

_ I've found you.  ♥ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...done. Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! The support is greatly appreciated, and it made writing a lot more fun. I didn't want an entirely unhappy ending, so I hope the ending was at least somewhat satisfactory. There's still hope for them, in another life.


End file.
